


Music of the Night

by Jeanelle1910 (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, F/M, Gen, OOC, Unusual Family, Violence, unusual romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 70,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Jeanelle1910
Summary: HarryPotter meets The Phantom of the opera, sort of *smiles*Follow Harry (Harrison) as he developes into something unexpected and how he collects members for his family.DARK! Harrison; Intelligent Harrison; creative, subtle, cunning, cold Harrison





	1. Unexpected Developments

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, what follows is important, please read these facts:
> 
> This story is a work of fanfiction, the original and concept behind it does not belong to me and I refuse to claim any of the original characters- Joanne K. Rowling can gladly keep them and earn more money. It´s fanfiction and I do not earn money through it nor do I want to!
> 
> This is a DARK! Harry fic and the rating might change, as well as the title. While it IS about family (The DARK, abused and powerful kind of family) do not mistake it for a story filled with roses and love and cuddling! Voldemort does not have a sudden realisation that being nice could lead to the same results or discards his plans of world domination.  
> Most characters are OOC!!
> 
> I do apologise if I missed correcting “Golem” into “Copy Cat” at one point in the story. I was only recently made aware of the Jewish Golem and never intended to misuse this Defender.

Calmly he stepped towards the crib in the middle of the room, eyes firmly set on the small boy standing in it. He had expected to have to deal with the child´s screaming and wailing but it´s only reaction since he had appeared in the door was a nearly deliberate slow upwards motion until the child stood upright, the little hands holding onto the wooden bars of the crib.

Still needing to grab hold of the bars to steady himself, he had watched his every move with those beautiful emerald eyes, no sound leaving the sweet, full red lips not even when he watched his mother fall to the floor, stiff wide eyed and dead. Slowly he let go of his wonderment and stepped over the dead body until he stood in front of the cute little boy, unable to look away, unable to raise his wand. His mind was racing a mile a minute.

He had come to kill this boy destined to defeat him only to stop and stare while wondering how those rather plain people had managed to give birth to such a beautiful creature. The fact that the little Angel was smiling at him was beyond his ability to comprehend if one counted his other startling thoughts and the angelic quality of said smile. "Little Angel!" The smile grew at that before the toddler giggled, as if he understood what Tom was thinking, why he had called him Angel with such a soft voice. A giggle that meant said little Angel did not share his opinion.

The response, even if he knew that it wasn´t, couldn´t have been consciously, caused him to kneel down, wand back in its holster, going on the same level to meet the child´s eyes without forcing the child to strain it´s head longer than necessary. One of the little hands slowly let go of the bar it was holding and was soon placed upon his left cheek, like the child was giving him time to draw back. Then the lips parted and a nearly melodic, definitely angelic voice said "Snakey!"

Marvolo, couldn´t help the smile forming on his face with his lips that looked like he had none. He was surprised over the lack of resentment, lack of anger and shocked at the realisation that he could not kill this child. Chuckling inwardly at the absurdity of the situation, including the beauty of the boy, his lack of any kind of toddler-ish reaction and the most absurd fact that the person to touch him in over 25 years was delivered by his destined enemy. Bright, too intelligent, emerald eyes never left his and the small hand formed a ball on his cheek, little head titling "Real?"

Tom Marvolo Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort, most feared Dark Lord in this century, was unable to fight the chuckle that left his mouth after this one simple word. A chuckle that morphed into the first real, heartfelt laugh of his life because of a tiny, angelic, barely two-year-old boy. To his eternal amazement the child´s small smile turned into something much more serenely. A smile of an Angel, telling him, that he was aware of the fact that he had never had reason to laugh like that. Feeling the split in his soul seal itself as the time limit of the sacrifice ran out he couldn´t honestly bring himself to care that there would be no new Horcrux tonight, he had acquired something else much more important.

"I wonder, little intelligent Angel, if you would want to be mine?" The little child bowed it´s head and stroked his cheek before it looked up again raising his hand away to point at its forehead and the floor in a circular motion around the crib before it met his eyes with a frown, as if unsure how to formulate something. Finally only one word left those beautiful lips, frown still in place "Magic" as the little hand and fingers performed the gesture again.

Tom felt his heart skip a beat and feared, for a moment, that it would stop to beat forever when he followed the child´s motion out of a sense of amusement and trying to show the child that he did take him seriously, only to find the slightly glowing runes drawn in blood on the floor around the crib. Those runes had been drawn with great care and determination over the course of several months, activated trough the live energy and magic of the body lying mere steps away.

Hearing a soft sound and feeling the little hand on his cheek again he turned to look at the toddler to find it´s forehead glowing slightly. It was a rune looking remarkably like a lightning bolt and it was the rune of protection used by Merlin, a language and power long lost with barely any documentations or books that had survived until now. "Magic, indeed!" His own voice was soft and filled with disbelieve and surprise.

The child he had come to kill and asked to keep had just warned him that the circle would hurt both of them and wouldn´t allow him to leave without side effects. He had known, of course (mostly through Severus hate filled ramblings) how full of pride the Potters had been about their highly intelligent, powerful and beautiful child but this amount of intelligence was nearly ridiculous- which meant that he had readily agreed with Severus assortment.

But now he was kneeling in front of the reality, proof that the family had understated just how intelligent and beautiful their child was. Deciding that there was only one way to find out just how intelligent the boy was he began to cast his mind at his options.

He wanted this child, even if it was simple coincidence that the child knew about the circle and communicated its existence to him instead of warning him because he had offered to keep the boy. The main problem was that he couldn´t leave the child in an activated runic circle, especially if it was designed to keep him alive in it or dead outside of it and he couldn´t use Dark magic either or any kind of active magic. Nodding to himself he removed the glamour that caused him to look like a snake and shuddered as the Light Magic of the circle tore into him. Forcing himself to feed on this magical discharge he looked up as he heard the child cry out in apparent pain.

The glamour had been created through a branch of necromancy, which was why it did not draw on his magical reserves but it was Dark Magic, even if it was a passive release instead of an active cast, Dark Magic was what activated the circle. And because it was no active magic the backlash wouldn´t hurt him as the circle couldn´t be designed to take all kinds of magic into equation. Taking all of this into account his actions had been the only option, which was why he hadn´t expected the small rune on the boy´s forehead turning into a bleeding cut.

Now that the protection had set in, he couldn´t really take the child, at least not now until he had time to figure out how it all worked. "I am sorry, my little Angel. It never occurred to me that there would still be a backlash!" Taking into consideration all the things that had happened the last half an hour, he was unsurprised that Harrison was standing still without any indication that he had been in pain several moments ago.

Glaring at the lifeless body behind him he turned as the child softly said "Hurt" and stared into emerald eyes. "Stating the obvious, are we?" The child frowned and touched his cheek again. "I cannot take you, right now, little angel. The protection will prevent it. But I will take you. That, I can promise!" Instead of disappointment the child smiled adorably, nodded and touched his cheek again. Now that the glamour was gone it was a simple human cheek but it would take a new ritual to re-establish the glamour again. "Will you be a good little Angel until I come to pick you up?"

He smiled as those beautiful emerald orbs turned what appeared to be a murderous shade of dark green, he might just have hallucinations or was indulging in wishful thinking, though, which did not stop his slightly bashful smile. The underlying: "I´ve always been good, why should I change that?" could be a trick of his mind as well but he chuckled nonetheless. Removing the tiny hand from his cheek he slowly rose, kissing the no longer bleeding forehead, watched as the child´s lips formed a pout before he turned with flourish, glared at the dead woman and left.

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Harry James Potter, known as "boy" or "freak" stood in the bathroom of Number Four Privet Drive, finally finished with cleaning said bathroom. Which meant that one would be able to eat from the floor and he spent several seconds imagining Dudley eating from it, on wand point even though it wasn´t cleaned by him, before he moved and smirked at his own reflection, the images causing his smirk to have a malicious edge.

The reason for his rather unusual mirror use was the scar on his forehead, a scar that had been fading for years and would soon be gone. It was good that the thing was fading as he doubted his ability to endure those beasts much longer. Remembering how badly Vernon had beaten him the last time he was caught wasting time he left the bath, ignoring the calendar that proclaimed the thirty-first of July which meant that he had turned seven at midnight, not that he was supposed to know about that or his real, full name. He would probably think that his name was Freak if his memory and mind weren´t this good at such a young age. Shaking his head slightly he entered his relatives bedroom to clean it before he would have to clean Dudley's room.

Thomas (he despised this plebeian name given to him by a love sick fool) Marvolo Riddle stood in the backyard, if one could describe five meters width behind and around the house as yard, of Number four Privet Drive, waiting patiently for the remaining wards, which had been fused with the walls, to fall. Due to the idiocy that might fool most about the sheer brilliance of the man who cast them he had been able to watch those muggles and how they treated his little Angel with no one noticing his presence.

Well, he was hidden from the sight of all Muggles and the Squib but when the young boy´s emerald eyes opened, kneeling on the kitchen floor still sporting several bruises and fresh wounds from the most recent beating, and zeroed in on him through the window he knew that at least his Angel was aware of his presence. The eyes of the now eight-and-a-half-year-old widened only slightly before a small, serene smile flittered across his face. Mindful of his jailors the boy averted his eyes, smile and any other expression wiped from his face, as he slowly rose mindful of his new wounds.

Pain was no reason or excuse to stop with his work, he was earning his keep after all and it was his fault for being a freak. Freaks deserved beatings just because they existed. He had been taught to follow four rules in this house; rule number four was the easiest, if one knew how to suppress the urges all children had. The rule meant that he was not allowed to speak unless spoken to, any kind of sound was forbidden, even if he was whispering to himself or moaning in pain and hunger. Rule number two was that he had to be grateful for what little food, clothes, water and blankets he got.

The translation of those rules was his own, of course. Rule number two meant that if he frowned, showed any indication of dislike for the bleached clothes, burnt bacon, hard bread he would be beaten and would have to live without either of those things for an unknown and sort of sporadic amount of time- as they were such "good" people and were "keeping" him and if he couldn´t appreciate their generosity he would not get it.

One of the hardest rules to follow was rule number three "Do not be seen or heard". In some cases sighing was a sound too loud, which meant that he was heard and thus had broken the rule. It also meant that he had to learn to move silently in a house seemingly made up of creaking wooden floor. Moving silently was hard to learn especially if one wore too big clothes and it became harder once he got old sandals as shoes usually were making sounds if they met wood. Harder still was the part of "do not be seen" as he had to care for the garden since he was four and it was rather hard to hide while mowing the lawn. The neighbour's weren´t allowed to be made aware of the second child in the house.

The rule was still in place even though Dudley hadn´t bothered to follow the rule and hunted Harry through all of Little whining, which made it impossible to hide his presence in Number Four. Which was why he had learned, that those rules only applied to him, and if anyone else broke them it would be his fault. Everything was his fault and it was "okay" because he wasn´t human but a freak that dared to exist. Until the Day of his Discovery that had led to him seeing not much for a whole week with pangs of pain and hunger all through it and several beatings in this one week, everyone with another surname than Dursley had no idea of his existence.

Glancing outside at "Snakey" he began to cook, ignoring the pain while he directed his magic to heal the wounds and bruises before he placed glamour's over his visible skin to prevent the detection of his ability's. If the Dursleys knew that he could control and access his magic and used it to heal most of the damage Bedlam would erupt over days and he might not have time between the beatings to heal, which would lead to him finally dying. He hated his jailors, this monsters that dared to be blood related to him.

He hated and despised them with all the contempt a nearly nine-year-old could muster, which was in his humble opinion an impressive amount of loathing and probably nothing normal "Light" children were capable of. Feeling a warm tingling once he was nearly finished with the meal, he wouldn´t get a scrap of he bowed his head to look into the surface of the toaster to serve him as mirror and smirked briefly. The scar was gone. Looking up he smiled at the man standing beside him. "My little Angel!" His smile turned wider and he allowed the other to hug him even though neither of them was used to such affectionate touches.

"Hello Snakey!" was his soft nearly whispered answer knowing that the greeting would erase any doubts about his having recognised the older man. His saviour, however, simply smiled partly amused and leaned casually against the kitchenette "Here I was going to offer you to call me father instead, but if you aren´t interested.." Moving fast he buried his face on the man's shoulder as his arms circled around Tom´s neck. There was no use for words- the gesture said it all.

"Freak, I have not wasted my time teaching you cook four years ago..", trailing off at seeing her nephew cling to a handsome, athletic man of probably thirty years, Petunia noted the elegant and expensive clothing, perfectly trimmed ebony hair. It all screamed "important, rich" and he was holding her nephew with a gentleness and causality as if this was nothing new. Then she met the cold, calculating dark brown eyes looking her over, a slight sneer forming on the handsome face as the man´s grip tightened briefly before he let go of her nephew.

Unable to look away or react she watched in amazement as the stupid Freak calmly got off the stool he used to cook and moved to stand at the man´s right, their visitors hand gently landing on the boy´s shoulder as if he was restraining him or calming him down. As if he needed to those things with this useless freak. "Who.. who are you?" A cruel smirk formed on the handsome face causing her to freeze in the same moment her husband and son entered the room awaiting their lunch.

The next thing she knew all doors closed shut, the curtains closed as well and they were all literally frozen on the spot. "Interested in a little lesson in magic, my little Angel?" The voice cut through the room like a knife, it was that icy cold. "I´d love to, father!" The answer of her nephew nearly caused her eyes to pop out especially as the man turned to look at the Boy with a gentle expression, stroking through the boy´s hair before he faced them again all gentleness gone.

"You have been given a task. The task of caring for, and raising, a beautiful little Angel. To cherish, protect and love. But what I have seen so far was neither of those things. You couldn´t even be bothered to give this little Angel the basic care of decent clothing, a room and enough food. You have destroyed every potential of goodness in my Angel by simply not realising what you have been given!" Drawing his wand as he spoke he cast several silencing wards and other things that would ensure that no one would disturb them.

"My angel?", knowing that he needed to ask now, lest he got too side-tracked he glanced at the young, beautiful child beside him he smiled as emerald eyes looked up to him and a soft spoken "Father?" returned. Careful to keep the muggles in his view he allowed himself to feel the shudder of warmth this simple word sent through his body. He had waited, using up most of his patience for this day and those stupid muggles ruined it by their treatment of a child he saw as his since the night he couldn´t kill it. "Is there anything of value you wish to take with you?" "Probably..!". Partly amused at the calculating tone his son used he looked at said child to find Emerald eyes filled with icy calculation.

"Go retrieve it, then!", giving one sharp nod, the boy moved around his frozen tormentors, trusting him to keep them at bay. "Maybe I´ll allow you to live. Your treatment will ensure that he won´t ever hesitate to torture and kill, manipulate and lie, after all. Congratulations in destroying every hope of this little Angel joining the Good guys. If you had seen him for what he was you might have managed to turn him to the Light!", thinking over his own words and the expressions on the muggles faces he began to laugh a cold, cruel laugh, knowing that without his Angels high intelligence and his promise to come and get him the child would have never bothered to use his magic to heal his body and Dumbledore would have had to pick up his heroes dead body several years ago.

Casting the first few curses while he was still chuckling his eyes narrowed. Despite his words and the fact that most of them were the utter truth he would let those animals suffer. Giving into his bloodlust he cast curse after curse until he felt the red haze slowly lifting, the muggles bleeding and twitching but alive. Coming back fully after another Cruciatus he found his son standing in the door one hand holding a probably very carefully packed satchel the other holding onto the doorframe as if the boy was either trying to not run away, run to him to stop him or prevent himself from joining.

The sinister smile on the angelic face and the malicious glee in those orbs as his son took in everything about his jailors solved that particular puzzle and he laughed again, this time with a hint of real amusement and pride. Those muggles could have made his Son follow the official reputation of Angels but instead they had turned his dark potential into his reality and caused him to become a demon. Maybe he should thank them in his own special way? "If you wish to do that, you should do it soon, father!" Meeting his sons emerald eyes he felt warmth spread through his body at the emotionless mask and coldness in his son´s eyes and face.

Whatever those muggles had taught him- his son had learned those lessons, the way he understood them, very well. "Do you wish to thank them, my little angel?" They both knew that it was a test, a test for both of them. His son looked at him and smiled, stretching out his hand. Moments later a small flame appeared in his palm growing in size and changing form and colour until it was a fist sized ball of pitch black fire. Fiendfyre. His son looked at him as he moved his hand and threw the orb at Vernon Dursley, only as the obese man began to scream in pain did those emerald orbs leave him. "Thank you, uncle, for teaching me to steal, to live without meals for weeks, to function under pain, to walk soundlessly, to hide my feelings and use my brain in order to answer my questions and to use my magic!"

Each learned quality was accompanied by another ball of flame for each member of the family with others that seemed to be specified for the woman and whale like kid like learning how to cook and subterfuge and learning how to run very fast and how to hide for hours. Highly intelligent, filled with malice and creativity, control over his own impressive power at such a young age and a true Slytherin- his son through and through.

"Enough, my Angel!" His son stopped as soon as he had spoken the command. Harrison was looking at him without questioning his motives and it caused him to smile softly. They could still use those muggles, after all and his son trusting him to have a reason, respecting him enough to not question the order without knowing the old ways and trusting him that leaving the muggles alive did not mean that he would break his promise and leave without him was just what the test should result in. "I need some of your blood and a few of your hairs, my little Angel!" Saying this he watched as his son calmly moved through the room, put the satchel on the table and removed a knife and a bowl from their respective places.

The child did so with such an ease that he nearly changed his mind again, especially as his son placed his hand over the bowl and cut into it, allowing the blood to fall into it without flinching even once. Only once the bowl was half filled did he use his magic to heal the cut causing Tom to fight his bloodlust as he realized just why his son had such a wonderful control of his magic. Growling as he saw his son flinch, a nearly invisible reaction but he had been watching too intently to miss it, when he removed several hairs he felt his wand arm twitch.

It was his sons slightly shy smile that caused him to ignore his urges and move towards his little Angel, engulfed his child into a hug as he called forth his magic to heal the head wound he was sure to be there hidden beneath the awful mop of raven coloured hair. They should hurry, he was aware of that fact but they both needed this confirmation. Letting go of his son he smiled at the child´s undivided attention placed upon him.

"We are going to construct a copycat. They are Dark magical constructs and a perfect replica if done correctly that can speak and respond in a limited manner- which should be fitting enough. It will be incapable of feeling but can "learn" certain things as well as "remember". There even will be a personality development if done correctly, however nothing that could compare to a soul!" "Is there a way to discern if I am dealing with a copycat?"

Continuing to stir the "potion" containing the blood and hairs of the boy, a bit of water and two drops of his own blood he answered. "Only, if you suspect foul play in the first place. Should you have the feeling that your slave or lackey has been replaced with a copycat, casting a certain detection spell will verify your claim. Said spell is banned and without it nothing will reveal the difference. It would just be a very shallow person and most people don´t bother with digging deeper. But once you´ve made a Copycat your magic will feel the difference!"

"Is there a way to remove them?" "Copycat usually dissolve after a certain amount of time. It depends on the abilities given to it as well as the amount of "live" it should have. If a Copycat is killed it will stay frozen in its form until joined with earth!" Seeing his sons nod he conjured a heap of earth and leaves. "Is there a difference between using magically made supplies versus their natural equivalent?" His son looked at him and bowed his head slightly as he stopped his work. "Forgive me, father!"

Feeling hot rage wash over and through him he closed his eyes, let go of the spoon he had used to stir the potion with and breathed slowly in and out before he smiled at his son. "Look at me, my angel!" His smile softened into something real instead of forced as his son obeyed. "Do not apologise for asking valid questions. I will answer those questions at all times to my full knowledge!" Emerald eyes lit up and his son smiled a small, loveable angelic smile before turning serious as he prepared to answer the question.

"To make things or supplies with magic is called conjuration. The principle behind it is simple as one only needs to focus on what one wants to make and its detailed texture before forcing the air to become what you pictured. While conjured food can act as substitute it lacks flavour and nutrients. This is the case for everything we conjure as those things are made of sheer force of will and magic. It will suit the purpose!" His son did the adorable frown again and titled his head causing him to smile, amused. This time it wasn´t a side product but purpose that he looked at him like that. "Using real earth instead of conjured earth would be better?"

Smiling he cuffed the boys left ear and leaned forward. "It suits our purpose, my little Angel!" The cute, thoughtful look vanished, the emerald eyes turning calculating as his son accepted the punishment and thought over the implications. "Because it is a magical construct the use of conjured earth would only further the needs of the Copycat - conjured things do not dissolve easily and it would feed the required magic?" "Very good, now pay attention!", turning he removed the conjured fireplace from underneath the bowl and slowly turned it to allow the thick fluid to drop on the heap on earth and leaves, chanting all the time. His son watched silently as the pile slowly began to grow and change its shape until a nearly perfect replica of his son stood before them, but he still wasn´t done chanting.

Ignoring his son he kept following the script, until said wayward son stepped forward, took the knife he had cut himself with and cut a lightning bolt into the Copycats forehead with the ease of someone handling this special tool often while aware of the fact that the knife could be used to hurt and kill. His highly intelligent nearly nine year old son stepped away the moment he was finished and out of his line of vision, returning to observing until he was done chanting. Looking at his angel he hid his smile at the fact that the kid would probably never cease to amaze him.

"Come here, my Angel!" A small hand slipped into his and he looked at the boy. "Take the remaining blood and spray it over the creature. Save a few drops for the activation as you need to ingrain what he needs to know before that!" Continuing the explanation in detail he simply watched as his son fetched the bowl and began to follow his instructions listening, once again, to the rules taught by the muggles- this time in a very intense way instead of a list of things his son was "thankful" for. It were the rules, how the Dursleys meant them and what his son had done, at least the easier things, to translate them into his behaviour. Keeping a tight leash on his anger when Dudley's little game and the various punishments for breathing were listed he felt another shiver of warmth run through him as his son activated the Copycat without turning to him to ask for a new explanation or help. Half an hour later the muggles memories were erased and the Copycat had started cooking, which meant that he had taken his son and led him outside the house. They were gone mere moments later.

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Daemon Alexis Riddle-Slytherin smiled at his father, who was currently pacing his study glaring his patented death glare at his innocent carpet as he tried to justify his son going to Hogwarts as opposed to Durmstrang to himself. His father had adopted him using an ancient, outlawed blood ritual that wonderful day over six years ago. They had doubled their time together by using another very illegal and Dark ritual, which had required human sacrifices to gain the perks they wanted without the noisy side effects of timer-turners.

The adoption had changed his looks, of course, and they both had been very happy to see the mop of hair turn into silky obsidian coloured, straight hair. That his eyes had darkened to jade green was just one of many changes and the only one they both had had mixed feelings about. Now, however, "Harry James Potter” was due to receive his Hogwarts acceptance letter and once this letter was sent their game was up. The Copycat, it had turned out, had not survived the treatment of the Dursleys- a rather large oversight on their part as Copycats died just like humans if starved. They had to replace the thing four times in officially three years.

His father was pacing in his study because Albus Dumbledore might retain his job as headmaster of Hogwarts, despite their best efforts and it was the sending of his son into the school headed by Dumbledore as opposed to attend a school without the meddling old fool which caused the usually fast forward, stoic, cold man to run circles.

The fact that he was listing his reasons mentally wasn´t the amusing part, the murmurs that escaped his father’s mental tirade were what kept him standing still with a poorly concealed smirk on his face. Personally, he preferred Durmstrang to Hogwarts regardless of who was Headmaster, but the benefits of attending school in the castle outweighed the negative aspects- especially as all of them revolved around the aging headmaster. His father was, after all a Dark Lord chosen by magic to reform their world and going to school with the next generation was too good to pass up, he was his father’s son after all.

“What do you think my angel?” Smiling at hearing his given pet-name he looked into Tom Riddles frustrated brown eyes with a tinge of crimson red mixed into it, attesting to his father being mere moments away of losing his temper. “Durmstrang, while a good school and opportunity to see what Karakoff´s been doing while recruiting for our cause, does not suit our plans, father. I need to attend Hogwarts if you continue to insist on starting the change her in Avalon, Merlin´s Land before spreading into the world. If we were to discard your plan of taking Britain fist and started from Romania instead…”, he trailed off stepping forward to kiss his father´s cheek before he turned around to leave the room.

“You would have free reign if Dumbledore wasted most of his attention and efforts on his little Hero. When he tires, by watching me and trying to manipulate me instead of watching for any indication of your “return”, your playground would broaden!” With that he left, aware of the fact that his runes tutor would arrive shortly and unwilling to allow the man to roam around their castle unchecked.

Tom watched as his son left his study with nearly perfect predatory grace, soundless and self-assured. The Muggles had taught Daemon to be fast, stealthy, silent, basically to make no sound. Due to this his son had retained most of this learned behaviour. He hardly spoke, even during his lectures which had led to most of his son´s tutors thinking the boy unable to follow the subject matter they were teaching him as he never asked for clarification.

The truth of the matter was, however, that his beloved son never saw it as worth the effort. If he had any trouble understanding something he came and asked him for clarification, if he wished to talk he came to him to do just that not trusting anyone and simply not wishing to have any kind of conversation with his tutors. It had served to amuse him and was still a constant surge of amusement for him to watch the tutors squirm when his darling angel proved their accusations to be wrong running home with their pride shattered and doubts filling their minds.

They both were mistrusting out of habit, both used to take care of themselves and both used to keep their opinions to themselves in order to hide their real persona and further their plans. They were very alike, but where he had the ability of drawing people to his side through rhetorical abilities (if the looks had been important no one would follow his glamoured self, fear of him be dammed) while his son was a natural leader and had charisma in spades.

Getting to know each other, learning from each other and raising his son had been enlightening. He adored his son, loved him to pieces and combined with their steadily growing relationship his mental and magical strength had grown even further.

If someone had been bright enough to remember the side effects of creating a Horcrux he wouldn´t have bothered to repeat the process more than twice. Even now the thought of his decreasing mental health and sanity, that would have gotten worse with the killing of his son and subsequent removing of another part of his soul, caused him to sneer at his own youthful stupidity.

Using his time until he could take in his son wisely, he had researched Lilly Potters Protection extensively and discovering that he would have been turned into a ghost like benign while losing his seventh safeguard along the way had caused him to become painfully aware of his own faults regardless of powers and intelligence. With the fear of death being his greatest weakness, his already decreased sanity, whiling away as would-be spirit while waiting on his faithful minions to come retrieve him despite having foregone the pesky matter of telling them about his safeguards and his resulting immortality had not been one of his brighter moments.

He would have returned a raging beast, with nothing but loathing, hatred and utterly insane, due to his inability to find the flaws in his plan. His return from the lowest form of existence removing what little ability of rational thought he would have retained during years upon years of not really living. Contrary to popular opinion he had prided himself on the fact that there had been method to his madness and cruellity, only that he had lost the ability to discern if it was sheer arrogance or the truth.

Worse, he had ignored the signs long before he had lost the largest part of his intelligence and sanity that would have been vital to figuring it out. Losing sight of his noble goals was one thing, twisting them into the reasoning of a madman was unforgiveable. He had become like a brutal, cruel mirror of his worst enemy.

Losing his reasoning, his goals and his cause but moving onward anyway with no regard of the body count or if there was a magical community to rule left once he was done. Claiming the beautiful child as his had always felt right and he had never doubted this decision but in retrospect, he had to admit it, if only to himself, had been the best idea he had ever had. This decision had saved both of them.

Searching for a suitable home, furnishing it, starting to research with a new found sense of triumph he had clung to the night he had met his son and started scheming, meeting people and putting them under his influence if he deemed them even remotely useful for his goals while still keeping a low profile. Sighing he turned to look out of his window.

His beloved son would do everything for him and their cause, use everything he had to help, even if it meant pretending to become the next Dark Lord (as opposed to being the Heir of the real Dark Lord) directly under Albus crooked nose. Daemon was right, of course, it would free him up and broaden his “playground” but it would put his son in danger. How far was the meddling fool prepared to go to rein in his little Hero, and was he prepared to risk his son´s health, sanity or personality?

Could he even afford to worry about it when he could have a trustworthy and highly intelligent sat directly where he needed one the most? Could anyone else do this? Could he trust anyone else like he trusted his Angel? Would Harry Potter be safe or targeted by love potions and other crazy fan action just by “returning” to the magical world?

Growling he leaned his forehead against the cool window. His angel would wear a glamour similar to his in making and play the good little Light child without complaining once. The crux of the matter, however, was his own willingness. Was he willing to risk this? His instincts and his fatherly feelings for his son were screaming at him to ship his child away from Britain and into Durmstrang where he would receive the education he deserved. Better yet, he could send him to Salem Academy in America and keep him away from Albus clutches and crooked nose forever. Milling over his son´s words he admitted, only to himself, that he was not prepared to let his son out of his sight yet.

Several moments went by in absolute silence until his angel entered after knocking softly and receiving his permission to enter. Straightening he faced his son, unable to hide his turmoil with his usual smoothness concerning such matters and met his sons jade green eyes. “Perhaps, father, it is time for a vacation?” Daemon wasn´t looking at him, posture perfectly straight with the hint of submissiveness appropriate for his heir but his soft spoken question reverberated through his study for several moments.

Smiling fondly at his son he turned again to look out the window. This was the perfect solution for his issues. “Fetch what we need, Daemon!” His son smiled his private, heart breaking, brilliant smile, bowed and left without another word to capture the sacrifices needed for the ritual, but this time they would leave Britain and be gone for six years instead of prolonging three into six. Anyone with his sons potential and intelligence could finish Salem Academy and it´s Master programmes in six years.

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Father and son arrived in Salem mere four hours later. Using the local Gringotts branch to purchase a Manor near the Academy they began to furnish it with something akin to childish glee.

Here they were neither the Dark Lord and his Heir, nor was there any pressure from their Slytherin legacy, they were Thomas and Daemon Riddle here because of the world-renowned Academy. Without the need of keeping a low profile and uphold expectations they had chosen a wonderful Manor that could not compare to their castle in size and wasn´t designed for official meetings. Because he could leave his home without glamour’s lest someone recognised him as the person he was Tom felt a nearly ridiculous amount of happiness.

Passing all of his placement tests, as expected, Daemon began school on the fifth of September, enjoying the fact that he did not need to place restrictions on his abilities or intelligence and that he simply could go home after class. As the only magical school that offered many branches of magic alongside the possibility of attending muggle classes up to A-Levels it was the best school in the world. That they even offered sponsorships and Mastery Level while following “the old ways” was why they both held the school in high regards.

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Tom smiled at his son when he returned from his first day of school, which had basically been filled with walking around the Academy and it´s grounds while allowing the students to choose their subjects and give out basic instruction. Using the opportunity and well aware of the fact that it was an opportunity he chose introduction to Light magic, Theory of the branches of magic, General Magical Theory, World History, Dark Magic,  Healing (which was combined with Biology and general anatomy), Potions (which was tightly bound with Herbology), Charms, Psychology, Spanish, Latin, Runes and Transfiguration. 

Knowing his son like he did Tom merely raised one eyebrow at that before he copied his son´s schedule. Four of those subjects were scheduled for three years of which his son had already passed well enough to skip the first year, all others might have more years all around but his son attending them was simply to receive useable grades. The copy that included all the information about the school´s free days and holidays would allow him to adjust his own schedule to spend most of his time with his son and take said son with him for a bunch of his travels. It would be a waste of time if he did not use the fact that he had six years to explore North and South America.

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The most feared Dark Lord enjoyed his first real vacation with his son exploring the country, it´s traditions and cultural mixes. Visiting the native tribes, as well as the big cities, while spending time within the magical and muggle communities. They both were not really aware of their looks and the effect they had due to them but knew of the importance of cleaning up well and dressing well, which led to several shopping trips concerning clothes.

Using the opportunity, the pair bought many other things as well, deciding to spend some of the Potter money. Shopping became something of a new hobby as Tom had not bothered to go shopping for anything and let his minions buy the necessary supplies but wished collect new experiences and nearly all of them should be shared with his son.

New books and many old tomes as well as dozens of forbidden and rare things landed in their luggage including long forgotten rituals the tribes had passed down through several generations. The fact that they managed to acquire contacts and several acquaintances as well as supporters for their cause had ensured that he was on an emotional all-time high.

Feeling love and pride for his son only added to it and it all gave his magical power and his energy levels a boost he would have honestly never been able to imagine in his wildest dream. All their travelling and shopping gave them just what they wanted even though his son was attending school additionally to it, most of the time he was doing homework or reading trough his books instead of sleeping or doing silly childish things. Because of that Daemon received O.W.L´s in less than four years despite their travels, shopping trips and balls they were invited to attend.

His Angel received the highest grade in those subjects that weren´t in the O.W.L syllabus (General Law, Dancing, Etiquette, Magical Theory, Instruction in Light Magic, Magical Branches, Light magic French and Latin) while managing very high grades in his O.W.L results in British Law, Healing, Potions, Transfiguration, Spanish, Runes, Arimancy, Offensive Magic, Defensive Magic, Dark Magic, Psychology, World History, Crafting, Charms and Warding.

To celebrate that they left after Daemons fourth year at the start of his summer holidays and visited France to put his son´s language knowledge to test and discover the country and it´s cuisine as well as the occasional woman and man (at least in Tom´s case as his son was biologically too young). Upon their return to Salem Daemon began his N.E.W.T Level courses and the few subjects he had chosen to purse a Mastery in.

At his question why, he would choose some of the subjects his son had calmly explained that his cover at Hogwarts was that of a young meek boy, overwhelmed and not used to performing well, how was he to keep a leash on his patience with a ghost as teacher or an alcoholic that pretended to be a seer. Hearing that he had smirked amused and let it go.

If his son did manage a Mastery of World Law he would be capable of surviving Binns lectures as well as Sybille’s ramblings and be master of Divination out of sheer principle by the time he was done. It did explain why his son had outright refused to even consider attending the easy Magical History lessons as well as Divination and Care of magical creatures and the intense Herbology course, choosing to attend Potions with Care of important Herbs and Plants as focus. It also explained why he had chosen to continue the much more demanding Runes, Arimancy, Defence Magic and Offensive Magic classes up to N.E.W.T level.

They left with Daemon finishing a Mastery in Dark Magicks (which included every branch of magic that was declared Dark and those that were highly illegal in countries like Britain), Warding, Crafting, Potions, Psychology and British Law.                                                                   

 


	2. Vacation and Hogwarts

**_“Some legends are told- some turned to dust and or to gold._ **

**_You will remember me, remember me for centuries. And just ONE mistake is all it will take..!_ **

**_We will be going down in History! I never meant for you to fix yourself! Some legends are told, some turned to dust or to gold._ **

**_You will remember me, remember me for centuries! And just One mistake is all it will take…! We WILL go down in History!!!!”_ **

 

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Daemon smirked; his jade green eyes alight with mirth as he stepped away from his last work with the wards around their new home and castle near Exter. Through all their discoveries in the six years of vacation his plans had changed in marginally and been added to as well, which had required this new Headquarters.

“I know for a fact that none of those are even remotely standard issued wards or those legal and hailed by the Ministry or the Goblins, neither here nor in America!”, the Dark Lords voice was calm as he examined the colourful dome of light that was the devious ward scheme of his brilliant son. The dome was built around the castle, its grounds (which included stables and a medium sized forest with a front yard the size of a village) and he had the slight suspicion that it was shining in yellow, orange, different shades of red, different shades of blue and mixtures with green with a slight shimmer of pink and black mixing into all those colours, underneath the earth.

Because of their blood relation and his sons constant link from him to the wards his eyes weren´t burnt by the sheer brightness of those wards, anyone else might go blind by attempting to see them through various detection spells as it was simply impossible to tell where one ward began and another ended. The reason behind it was simple, it was intended sensory overload with the additional benefit of hiding the really dangerous parts of the dome that were invisible and all those colours would ensure that no one would stop to look for “colourless” wards.

Those invisible wards were triggered by passing over the dark version of the intruder ward and if someone did manage to disable most of the dome this set of wards would ensure that they couldn´t reach the door alive. If they then stepped forward the ward would rip their soul from their body and banish said body into the storage room next to their ritual room while the soul and its ingrained energy would serve to feed the wards. Having some wayward body’s lying around would be dead useful for a tight spot where he needed a few Inferni, which was why this same ward had been put around their “old” home.

That all of the colourful wards served a purpose and none of them were lethal, not even combined with each other, was testament to his son´s cunning and deviousness. It was a wonderful cruel plan, overload their senses, and let them exhaust themselves by removing non-lethal wards until they could be captured alive or moved forward and got their soul ripped out of their body. Should anyone be bright enough to forego the wards by apparating, teleporting or flying believing to have managed to trick the intruder ward they would soon notice that the dome wasn´t just a flashy light show.

All wards were active and the dome included all of their grounds, even the highest tower as well as the earth 20 feet below ground- flying over them simply wasn´t possible. Hell, even if they were desperate enough to dig a tunnel underneath the grounds they would die slowly and painfully. Hidden beneath two invisible wards in midst the colourful lightshow was a ward of three inches thickness that inflicted pain similar to the Cruciatus. Made of hand carved runes into whole brick of onyx the ward would then procced to rip the victim to shreds and absorb its blood and energy as well as magic, if there was magic to absorb, as it was the “downside” of such wards- someone had to powder them.

Which wasn´t a downside at all in their opinion as they could always let a bunch of muggles run towards the castle to feed the ward. Should, by some miracle, someone find a loophole in Daemons ward scheme and manage to move farther onto their grounds his son had crafted another special ward that would be activated some inches from the castle walls away and rip the victim apart once he or she touched the actual wall. This ward would absorb the magic, life energy and blood of the victim as well and feed the most important wards: anti- apparition, anti- portkey, anti-detection and muggle repelling wards.

They all were specifically set and custom made by his son and that meant that they could set them in such a specific manner as to prevent people from entering through any and all means. Being keyed into the wards did not mean that one was keyed into all wards and thus all areas. It depended on the magical affinity, set of mind and the “hunger” of the wards if the victim was killed or sent to the dungeons.

Being both of the careful kind, his son had added his own brand of house-elf wards, which would allow their elves to move around more or less freely. It would be such a stupid thing to have worked as hard as they did only to later discover that some stupid slave had been their downfall.

“I am capable of crafting amulets for your Death eaters, father. Shall I do so?” “If they are stupid enough to lean against the walls after being told to not do that my use for them has perished anyway!” This was the last time this subject was mentioned. Before the young Heir left to track down the Dursleys and his Golem he went into his workroom to fashion protection for his father and himself out of his recently acquired amount of silver.

The bracelets he had intended would stop most Light spells and curses as well as most of the less powerful dark spells without drawing on their magical reservoirs. Self-sustaining protection (which would not draw on their own magic, without the need of being near huge magical reservoirs).

His father simply took his bracelet and put it on before he said good-bye to his 17-year-old son in a younger and glamoured body, knowing that not using the bracelet would hurt his son much more than a Cruciatus ever could. And honestly, no one but his son could create something like that and succeed, he couldn´t find something similar all around the world even if he tried and in the unlikely event that someone had made something similar he still trusted his son, probably more than he trusted himself.

Additionally, neither of them thought that there was such a thing as to much paranoia, too much protection or being too careful. Double check, plan for every eventuality, be as careful as possible even if it wasn´t entirely called for. They had not survived as long as they had those self-trained rules not been in place. He had survived his own madness because of his paranoia, after all!

One could say what they wanted but assassinating him was like biting off more than they could chew. It was why Dumbledore feared him and it was why proud purebloods still bowed to him after receiving Crucio´s instead of new projects.

Because, the worst-case scenario of wearing a bracelet designed for protection was that it would never come in use, and how likely was that? The Dark Lord and his Heir not needing protection, it did sound ridiculous if one thought about it for such a long amount of time which was why he snorted briefly and turned to start all these heaps of paperwork that had somehow grown in size since their return.

World domination, murder and other such things seemed to produce the same amount of paperwork than adoption, healing and governing a country. And while he had allowed Abraxas and later Lucius to take over this side of the “job” he wouldn´t allow any Malfoy near his documents for the future. Eyes glowing dangerously red in anger he headed for his study.

There was a time for dealing with his Minions and it was now.

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Daemon entered the shack on the small island watching his copycat cower in a corner. Vernon and Petunia were absent from the room while Dudley was whining about missing his TV shows. Sneering at the general situation; the shack on a small island during a bloody storm and these stupid muggles that had forced him to track them down for several hours. Without his father´s promise at All Hallows Eve all those years ago, his high intelligence and dark tendency’s he would have turned out just like the creature shaking from the cold wind the wooden walls couldn´t stop while biting it´s lower lip and hoping to be forgotten.

He might have had spirit left at the age of eleven but nothing that would have been worth mentioning filled with issues the size of a troll and afraid of the darker, crueller thoughts hidden within his mind. Afraid of the most useful part of himself, hoping against better judgement that everything would sort itself out.

Closing his eyes, he stepped closer to the copycat, it wouldn´t do to get sick by overthinking just what he needed to act out for the next years. He would have enough time wondering and feeling sick once he acted like this sad little child afraid of his own shadow and averse to human touch.

His dislike of the whole thing was nearly overwhelming him and he stopped. He had to do this. This was important. He could kill and torture once the summer holidays began, and he needed the Copycats “memory” in order to act out “Harry Potter”. There was no way Dumbledore hadn´t placed other spies around the Dursleys and wouldn´t know very well which kind of person, would arrive at Hogwarts. How broken his Hero’s soul would be.

Drawing his wand, he tapped the soulless creatures head twice, removing it´s “memory” before he transferred the bruises onto his glamour and vanished the Copycat, he would need to make a new one either way. Harry Potter was afraid of the Darkness within himself, scarred for life with bruises untreated wounds and concussions and lacking nutrition, starved of affection and afraid to be a Freak of nature wishing desperately to be normal.

It was the potent mix of it all that would cause teenage angst and irrational anger unleashed upon those close to him. Considering that the child would grow up without getting what it wanted the most it was hardly surprising. It would be interesting to act it out to the best of his ability and see how the Light liked a Hero who wasn´t really Light even though he fought his Darkness instead of embracing it. He doubted that the fascination of it all would rein his temper for more than a few hours.

It was imperative that he did not slip up. He couldn´t make mistakes. He couldn´t follow his own wishes and instincts- he had to be this shivering, bright eyed child for many, many months. While his acquired Mastery of Psychology did nothing concerning feeling actual pity nor did it cause him to feel remorse for who he could have been, it did serve to help him with his task.

He had never felt like “Harry Potter”, after all. There had never been an ounce of doubt about his magical nature, that the Dursleys did not love him, that he was different and they simply couldn´t deal with it any other way. He never had carved their affection or wished to be normal only to maybe get all the things his cousin got, because he had known that even if he suddenly became normal the fear of him and his abilities would not allow the Dursleys to see it.

It had never hurt him to be called Freak or Boy, he had known his name after all. It wasn’t his but their fault. All of those things weren´t true for Harry James Potter and he should really get some prize for the acting he would be doing. Suddenly receiving a Mastery in Psychology seemed to have been one of his brighter ideas instead of a spur of the moment decision.

This child was prophesied to be his father´s enemy and the desperate need to prove his worth, the desperate need to prove to himself and everyone else that there was nothing wrong with him, that there was nothing Dark within him, that he was a good boy and no freak would, combined with luck and the right kind of brainwashing even achieve just that.

How successful said Enemy would be, if one stopped to relize that it wasn´t important if the Saviour was Mentally stable as long as he managed to hit the enemy. When taking his father´s brief flight through insanity into consideration the fact that Potter had survived would ensure that they met at least once.

Why bother motivating the adults to fight, protect themselves and others if you could send a child scared witless and keep the status quo. One child against the lives of a nation. Not a though choice. It never would count- what Harry Potter wanted- even if he survived the war.

Dropping the spells that hid him from view he sat down on the floor, refusing to cower and shake without any kind of audience there to see it. While he wouldn´t be doing this if he wasn´t sure that his acting skills were up to the task he refused to act for this mountain of wasted flesh known as the Dursley family.

Their own little sorrows wouldn´t even allow them to see all his wonderful acting, or that he was there at all. In short it would just be a waste of time. And he refused to waste anything that was his because of them. Maybe he should suggest using them as supply for the human fat needed in some of his father´s experimental potions and rituals? Two of the three dirt bags had enough to share, after all.

Relaxing he listened to the howling wind, Petunias and Vernon´s discussion and Dudley’s rambling. They honestly thought that they could escape Albus Dumbledore by conducting a wild goose chase? Or that a shotgun would solve the problem of being found? Fear really was a fascinating instinct from time to time.

Not that this special kind of desperate fear didn´t make them helpless instead it made them a special brand of dangerous. Like any basic Animal that was backed into a corner, they were unpredictable now.

The Dursleys had little to no positive feelings or restraints if it came to the “Freak” living with them, it was a side effect of their constant fear. There honestly was no moral or ethnic downpour as there were none to begin when if it came to him or any magical being.

If you were a couple stuck in a world entirely of their own making with the illusion that being able to beat a wizarding child meant that they could beat the adults as well. While believing that a son looking like a whale was just a healthy, cute child as well as having no neck and throwing temper tantrums at 45 was considered perfectly normal- well it would have been hard to fit their definitions of normality even if he wasn´t magical.

But the addition of him into their beautiful, picture perfect fantasy had caused the ability of rational thought to become so far removed from the Dursleys grasp that they wouldn´t find it, not to mention use it, if it bit them in their oversized asses and began crawling upwards.

It smelled like storm, fear and tears in the small shack which it caused his magic to sing and his eyes to light up with malice. Daemon successfully fought the urge to enjoy his time here and recreate their wounds from “three” years ago, using his mediation technique and Occlumency to prevent himself from forcibly shutting up Dudley and causing him to squeak instead.

He was nearly thankful that whoever had been sent to retrieve Harry Potter had finally found them and chose that very moment to knock loudly on the door (if one could call it a door but he was sure that referring to the thing on the island something that implied it being designed for people to live in, was an insult to every shack around the world, at least those not falling apart just by looking at it).

The Dursleys stiffened and became very silent; as if ceasing to move and breathe would ensure that their visitor would just vanish thinking he had been wrong. “They can´t have found us..” Yes, fear was a wonderful, beautiful and dangerous emotion to inflict in a human being. As if magicals wouldn´t find one of their own if they were hell bent on doing so. Sure. And tomorrow the world would smell like roses.

Two knocks later their visitor seemed to lose his little amount of patience and used brute force to remove the door from its hinges. If he hadn´t decided to use the same fucking corner than his Copycat then he would have been impaled by splitters from the door. Looking up with fake surprise, nervousness and hope he faced Rubeus Hagrid and his mind came to a grinding halt.

Who would send a half giant that had been thrown out of school, their wand snapped to retrieve a wayward student that happened to be the Beacon of Light? Sighing inwardly at the thing about stupid questions he kept staring dumbly at the huge creature reminding himself that he was dealing with Albus Dumbledore. “There you are, ´Arry! Happy bith´ay!” The shock on his face was only partly an act, he simply had not bothered to hide it. Unsure of how to act, besides unsure and nervous he slowly began to speak.

“Who are you? Why do you know my name?” “Oh right! You wouldn´t know that, now would ya? I´m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts. Met ya´ as a babe, I did. Took you from the rubble from..”, the cheerful hairy half giant trailed off. Meeting the brown eyes hidden in a hairy face he kept the shock on his face as his mind screeched into overdrive. Rubble that was his home? Did this shack qualify for more than rubble? ”Rubble of my… Hogwarts? You mean the letters weren´t just mean jokes? Hogwarts is real? I am a wizard?”

Harry Potter would not dwell on the tragic things, his mind would pick out the thing he could feed his starving hope with and he had the feeling that Hagrid wasn´t allowed to talk much about the Potters, where said Rubble was located and how it all happened. As expected the lion roared at his questions. Half giant or not Rubeus Hagrid was a Gryffindor at heart and what a big heart it was.

As Hagrid had his temper tantrum his mind began to supply him with the exact amount of money and all the names of the potions he would get and be able to brew if he killed the Keeper of the Grounds right now. This big heart of his would bring thousand galleons if not more. That he was already planning on ripping it out of the bulky man´s chest gave him pause, if he kept imagining such things the risk of slipping up was rather high. He had to be patient. He could do this and all of the other things soon enough, patience was imperative. Focusing on his act he smiled at the half giant and listened to his ramblings using the time to slip into his role.

Hagrid left him after a few hours of shopping near the entrance to the leaky cauldron. He was seething inside. Being the proud owner of a ruddy snowy white owl, a wand that wouldn´t obey his command if he begged it to that looked ridiculously red, a nearly useless supply of potions ingredients as well as cheap tools and cauldrons that would barely make it to fourth year whole he had also found out that Dumbledore was monitoring his trust vault, well Harry Potters trust but that was beside the point.

Finding his key in the half giants possession and getting told how much money he could withdraw from HIS trust caused him to wish for the opportunity to strangle someone. Having neither the suitable victim near him nor the time for trying his luck and find one he did something else instead. Turning around on his heels he went back into the bank, played the act all the time and withdrew additional 300 galleons. The ruddy bird was the first to be replaced as it was waiting for a bond to someone of a pure heart- and he couldn´t run around with such a bird while it hated it´s owners very presence- it would be suspicious. And he could just glamour the eagle owl he bought instead.

There really was no need in offing a ruddy bird, especially as he needed a wand that looked like the holly and phoenix feather while suiting him enough to be useable. The problem with wands was that they had to suit you when you were eleven. Once your magic adjusts to using the damn tool you could actually make any wand work for you that has similar properties like your first.

Of course, once you became accustomed to using one or two specific wands this ability lessened considerably. Selling the substandard supplies to the second-hand shop hidden in a side alley getting less than half of what he had paid for them less than two hours ago, Daemon went into the apothecary to get supplies he could use without accidentally blowing up the cauldron because he had used cheap shit. And because he could fucking afford the good quality.

Soon he was walking through Knockturn and Diagon Alley to find a suitable, expensive glamour and a suitable wand that wasn´t made of holly and phoenix feather but worked for him and wasn´t as suspicious as his Demon heartstring, Rem´blood, Death Tree wand. Upgrading his alter egos school supplies he wondered how he could end up with the holly wand in the first place.

After all it had been obvious that the damn thing did not suit him and Ollivander had insisted on giving him Light affinity wands as if anything else wasn´t possible. But then Ollivander was the magical equivalent of Nike, mass production. And what was one supposed to do when the only other, Ministry unapproved, wandmaker in all of Britain was a vampire with an attitude that had certain expectations from his clientele?

It was kind of amusing to know that said vampire had fashioned him three wands, the last one with glamour to look like one of Ollivander´s works, the glamour preventing that someone could figure out the wands core. The last wand wasn´t a perfect match, couldn´t be a perfect match, as he already had that and the second best match served as his reserve wand. Hell, he had been using both for over six years already.

Glancing at the two new wands (he was used to having two and he would rather kill a Nundu before he took his real wands to Hogwarts) he wondered briefly if owning four wands, two of which were fitting but not perfect matches, was taking paranoia too far. His beautiful main wand was hidden in his room (he had sent it back home after he got the new ones) within it´s beautiful wandholster made of basilisk skin, the king of serpents in question had donated the scales needed for the holster.

The holster itself had been his Master work in Crafting and he had taken great pains in fashioning it the way he wanted to have it. Both his “new” wands were in their respective dragonhide holsters and because people usually tended to see what they wanted to see, no one would check his left foot for a backup wand, especially as he had no intention of acting suspiciously enough to warrant this kind of control from a man that had an aversion of letting people discover the truth and dirty his own hands.

Smirking he removed both wandholsters, clothes and trunk, and used his own vast knowledge to ensure that even if Albus came looking he wouldn´t find a damn thing.

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Sitting at the gold-orange table of Gryffindor after his sorting the young Dark Lord was astounded. Tricking the hat had been, in his humble opinion, too easy. He was Slytherin´s heir, his father was Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin- he should have needed to put much more effort into winning this battle but there had not been a battle to begin with.

Even with his Occlumency wards still going strong, this had been to fucking easy. His face and eyes were showing his happiness and unsure excitement, like he was still overwhelmed but happy to be in the House he belonged to while he was pondering the issue at hand and only paying half-hearted attention to the babbling kids around him. Salazar Slytherin had done many things, one of which was that he ensured that none of his heirs would be sorted into any other house than his.

His mind was running a mile a minute as he tried to figure out how Dumbledore could have overridden this enchantment. In all honesty he had planned on being brutally honest as the sorting hat was bound by Hogwarts and could not reveal the secrets he found in the new students heads, it had to have been Dumbledore, he hadn´t done anything to sway the hat.

He dearly loved his father especially as the older man had insisted on teaching him Occlumency from the start and had been very forceful in teaching him the Mind art. If he hadn´t been drilled into shielding his mind, the attempts from Quirrel, Snape and Dumbledore (it had been about ten in total by now), would have succeeded at least twice since he had entered the Great Hall.

His calm analysing turned into murderous intentions at that, not that anyone would notice his malicious smirk and hate filled eyes beneath the glamour of happy irritation and shyness. It was a good thing that he had managed to craft some of those “emotional” glamour’s or his temper would take over sooner than he was comfortable admitting even to himself.  Deciding that he needed time and several supplies to fashion several more of his little playthings he began to focus on the conversation around him and nearly choked on his sip of pumpkin juice.

They had thrown the Heir of a Noble family out the window to see if he was magical? What were the Light people degrading to? Children had to be raised, groomed if necessary punished but throwing them out the window of the third floor of the Manor to test their magical abilities?

There was a spell to detect the magical ability, affinity and possible strength of a pureblood child, for Salazar’s sake! And where those other children really laughing about that and letting it go, even the annoying know-it-all that read-it-all-from-the-book-please-insert-title? Sighing inwardly, he made an effort at remembering his “fellow” classmate’s names and faces while asking himself how he could expect a bunch of children sorted into the house of the brash to feel empathy.

It wasn´t like he had empathy, after all. He had a Mastery in Traumatology and Psychology explaining why Humans did what they did because he couldn´t really take the Dursleys, not to mention his Psychopathic father as good example much less look to them for guidance in figuring people out. The fact that Light children laughed about the near murder of one of their colleagues by same child´s freaking family had shocked him, but he was already evaluating how he could use that particular trauma in his favour.

Kept small, probably verbally abused, being thrown out a window to see if he was magical and if he wasn´t he could break his neck, die and they wouldn´t cry about it. This was huge potential right there. Focusing his mind at the challenge of changing Neville into something more to his liking than this poor, chubby; desperately wishing to be a good boy; child, helped him with his small pity-party within his mind. He had chosen to pull through this farce knowing very well that he would be surrounded by a lot of Light magic which caused his stomach to twist and a ton of obnoxious children.

Disappointing his father and himself by going on a killing spree, his first evening, wasn´t really an attest to his self-control or his patience. Surviving the Dursleys should have given him patience alongside his creativity. Shuddering inwardly, he began to analyse his own problem by focusing inward. It felt wrong and his emotions were too close to the surface. Daemon found the answer in less than three seconds now that he was looking for it.

Yes, he had chosen to come to Hogwarts to further their plans and get to know their new minions, but he was forced to act contrary to his very nature. Being at Hogwarts and sitting between eleven year olds in a huge Hall filled with kids of various ages was hard enough but if he added the fact that three different teachers had attempted to enter his mind without permission his feeling wrong and out of place was his version of staying in character instead of drowning the Great Hall in blood.

Additionally, Daemon Riddle was a private person, and while Harry Potter wasn´t exactly extrovert he would have to smile from time to time and laugh, things he preferred to do in his rooms and in privacy- especially those laughs that weren´t fake and a simple tool to get what he wanted. He might not feel confident at all times but he never would allow himself to show such weakness while Harry was the epitome of weak, slouched posture- nervous looks, slow movements, no interest in human touches and flinching away from them, shyness.

It was no wonder with his past and the current situation but it was nonetheless sending the message of a weak Gryffindor. Being mistrusting of adults were the only trait they shared and even that led to different responses.

Where Harry would be rash, reckless and desperately trying to prove his worth anyway, his own reaction would be to smirk, assort information, see if any (and which) kind of action was in his interest and come up with four plans before he acted. That no one would have any clue as to him being the one doing it was just part of how he did things.

Harry wanted to belong, wanted to have friends and would bend to their wishes and personalities until his spine broke. He did not care for most others and while he had spent six years mastering their Motivations he had no interest in befriending anyone at the cost of his personality.

But Harry simply did not have much of a personality and would only develop a sense for it in years to come. The fact that he couldn´t live his life like he wanted and wasn´t developing like he should have with his environment would feed Harry´s anger and hate in his soul, heart and body which would lead to more aggression and angst due to his “Dark” side, that a Saviour and normal kid shouldn´t have, would grow with that kind of food.

He was loyal to an amount of people he could count on one hand and respected only a handful of others which included former teachers and former classmates. Respect, Loyalty and Care were directed towards his father and himself as long as he did not cross his father´s path, in which case the older one won. Affection and Love fell largely towards the Dark Lord and while he was fond of and cared for a handful of other people this fondness would decrease and probably even vanish over years.

While he was charismatic and good at rhetoric he wasn´t exactly what one would call a talkative person and only seven people made the list of those that he honestly listened to. The fact that the one person he felt compelled to explain himself to was already very aware of how he worked, so much one look usually was all that was necessary left the need and desire to talk obsolete.

Everyone in close proximity was radiating light, pure magic and it made him feel sick. Steeling himself he pulled through his self-analysis with his usual coldness and crushed any doubts he might have had. He had a mission, period. With that sorted out he rose and followed his Housemates out of the Great Hall. Pretending to belong would burn his energy fast; he would have to do with his charisma and rhetorical skills.

 

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The day after Yule caused him to seek solace. For obvious reasons he had to stay at Hogwarts and could not visit his home nor his father. Contacting said father was out of the question and the Dark Lord would hardly send a present for his son through wards designed to check the pupil´s mail. His main issue lay with the present he had received. He knew it the moment he touched the cloaks fabric.

Icy Coldness and Darkness of the most natural kind had assaulted him. The Cloak of Invisibility. He had basked in the high, Conquest´s own cloak had given him as it was finally, after many years held by a necromancer. It was finally back where it belonged.

Conquest had been the most powerful Necromancer in History who had spent his live in the company of three others, it wasn´t their fault that most countries refused to remember the real story and believed “the tales of Beedle the Bard” instead.  Their nicknames had been given to them by those few victims that managed to get away alive, or rather those that were allowed to live.

Mundane´s, or Muggles like most called them, had been plagued by them and thus it was them that named them and built a legend around them so strong they even used it to keep their black sheep in check. Two hundred years after Merlin and Mordred fell the riders of the apocalypse decimated non-magicals.

The name was rather fitting, even though those that had given it had had no idea just how close those four had come to obliterate Humankind before the Animals and Beast rose to fight until Magic itself had to strike them down. Withdrawing the gifts, she had given them the four powerful Dark Wizards and Necromancers had turned back into mere mortals and into near powerlessness, their precious works of art that no one could recreate the only reminder of the “glory days”.

The reminder was such a cruel tool that War, the third of the riders, used his flute to call upon the creatures entirely of the riders making and allowed them to kiss him, the Dementors sucked out his soul the very same moment they arrived. But because of what he had been and the artefact he had created that plan of this didn´t work as intended and War joined the ranks of their creatures finding joy in populating the world with his kindred.

The flute, influencing the whole transformation was destroyed in the process. The Flute would have still been useful, split into four equal parts, but what remained of War´s mind ensured that he and his kindred burnt down the house, thus ensuring that this particular artefact remained ashes of the past.

The second of the four, called Death, used his wand with great care and had perfected the art of destroying whole cities with little to no movement when Magic reached him and ripped away his gift. While he retained a minimal amount of power through the influence of his most prized possession, he lost his mind spectacularly, falling into insanity, the punishment to dare and run from his main punishment.

Spouting off about his powerful wand was the last thing he ever did. His killer managed to wield it for three years when the abilities, Death had never mentioned, took effect and the bloodthirsty artefact started to take over his mind and body. The Elder Wand was passed down through history and Magic herself used it to strike down those unfit to wield it fearing that another Death would finish what the other had begun (during his short staunch as solo rider).

No Light Wizard holding the wand remained sane for more than 10 years and this miracle only happened because several of them began to figure out a method to prolong the timeframe in which the Wand did not try to take over. The Solution was simple, one only needed to touch and wield the Wand rarely.

Once a year tops. Because of the nature of the artefact, which was to addict the wielder, no Light Magician had managed to wield it longer then ten years that. It was sentient and whispered sweet words to those foolish enough to call themselves it´s master. Only magic herself accepting the wielder would make those claims true.

The fourth of the group, Famine, was master and crafter of the fabled resurrection stone in its golden setting on top a golden ring. Losing his powers but retaining his mind he managed to hide from Magic and certain death up until the day he lost control over his friends that he had called back to live.

When the Deathly Hollow sent out it´s call and Death began to follow, War followed his friend, the pull of the Hallow calling to him from across the country. When War, the Dementor, came to visit neither Horsemen survived, the Stone however did. Three out of four once again united in the Realms of Hell, or nothingness but Hell sounded much more impressive.

Conquest was by far the most reasonable of them all and decided to start anew. Building a house in the Stonehenge circle he used it´s natural magic and the powers of his cloak to live a long live with his own family, children and grandchildren. The Cloak, most of its power and ability still intact, was passed down within the family. Conquest, whose real name had been Marcus Aurelius Prevell, had taken the origin of the cloak and it´s blooded History into his grave leaving his family with a treasure they couldn´t comprehend the worth of.

Due to his cunning and slyness, he had hidden the truth and origin of his creation, out of fear for what Lady magic would do, but left them the item itself. His family was soon building a reputation. A reputation that was so far removed from their origin and natural Affinity that Magic cursed the now “Light” family as their new ideas and alignment managed to disrupt the carefully erected and maintained balance Magic had established. It had been a painstakingly done wok after eradicating every last possible threat to humanity- the Horsemen she made.

While Mundanes even included them into their religious believes and thus Moral code, their magical counterparts forgot all about them with the exception of this little book designed for children. That changed when Gellert Grindelwald came along and began to publicly search for this fabled Hallows, causing researchers and experts all around the world to dig up the real History and the fact that there had been four. Not that Grindelwald could have possibly comprehended what they were and whom they had belonged to, instead believing what the fairy-tale proclaimed them to be.

It was funny that most Mundanes still shuddered at the mere mention of the Four Riders and ran away in fear if they thought to see a red, a white or a black horse with a specially clothed rider on top; when most wizards read the tale twice or three times only to then put it on a shelve to collect dust.

Smirking he remembered the two hours of pure joy while holding the cloak, he had been riding this high while feeling like cackling manically while dancing in a pool of blood before he remembered his teachings and his sanity and thanked Lady Magic extensively. The Cloak was back where it belonged and he was well aware of a gift Lady Magic had given him (if he wasn´t supposed to have it Dumbledore would have sent it into the Nothingness it had come from).

It wasn´t until he remembered that he could not tell his father of his very special gift that his mood changed especially when he remembered that he had not seen said older man in nearly four whole months. His mood changing rapidly had been the reason for his nightly wandering and following the compulsions placed on the Cloak instead of simply removing them and continuing to dance, mentally of course, in the pile of blood. It was good that he did so too as he entered the unused classroom to find yet another artefact that should not be in the hands of a Light magician hell bent on obliterating the Dark. 

Only his self-control and the presence behind him stopped his startled and awed “The Mirror of Desire” from slipping out. Knowing better than to stare at his reflection and not willing to risk addiction just because he had an audience he took one careful look and averted his eyes moments later. The mirror was a dangerous object, someone was holding onto artefacts that were too much for one man to handle.

Did Dumbledore know what the Mirror was, what it could do? “Hello, Harry!” Pretending to be startled he turned around. “Professor, I am sorry, I shouldn´t be wandering around!” “Nonsense, dear boy, it is Christmas break, isn´t it? Tell me, my boy, do you know what this mirror does?” Hell, Yes! Ensuring that this little titbit did not slip out of his mouth he allowed the headmaster to manipulate him into reading the inscription aloud, which activated the “call” of the Mirror.

It was a strong compulsion to seek out the artefact at all times and part of the abilities of the Dark object. “The Mirror of Erised. I show not your face but your heart’s desire!” Doing his best to look awed but confused while averting his eyes from the Mirrors reflecting surface he waited for the aging man to make his move.

“Very good, Harry! Do you know what that means?” He bit back his answer of “Do you?” and several curses the faint hearted English born would probably find appalling and decided on the easy way out. “The mirror shows us what we wish to see?” “Ah, not exactly!” Focusing on his facial features and activating one of his special glamour´s he felt relieve wash over him as his cold hearted disbelieve broke out in form of an icy glare and a slight sneer.

The glamour, however, ensured that he looked like an attentive young child that was happy to be praised and that such an important man was talking to him. “The Mirror shows us what we most desire. Our most desperate wish! Many great men lost their mind trying to achieve what could not be achieved, least of all by staring in a mirror! I for one see socks. What did you see, dear boy?”

Cunning bastard, he thought as he met twinkling blue eyes. Dumbledore did not want him to fall victim to insanity but he wanted him to hear the mirrors Call. He wanted him to be able to seek the mirror out even if it was relocated.  “I.. I see my parents, sir..”

Watching the old coot leave he cursed mentally. It had not been his intention of following the Mirrors call, but now he would need to do just that. While touching the Mirror would give him the same feeling than the Cloak had done it would absorb all of his glamour´s and feed on them. As the most important one, the one that allowed him to look like an eleven year old Harry Potter, required Human sacrifice; touching the Mirror was not an option.

Breaking the hold the mirror had over him through the “Call” would cause the damn thing to glow and thus alert the maniac leading a school. Everyone else connected to it would feel it to. Not to mention the fact that only a Dark wizard could break it´s hold to begin with. What, exactly, was the white bearded one planning?

 


	3. Year one and two

Jade green eyes, partly looking like illuminated emeralds, stared into the fire in sheer disbelieve. Nicholas Flamel. The philosopher’s stone.  The fucking stone of eternal live and never ending monetary supply was at this castle. Was Dumbledore trying to trick his little Hero or the Dark Lord? Was he trying to trick both and force a confrontation? Testing his Hero was one thing but using his own school to lure the Dark Lord meant that he thought Voldemort to be insane, more so than he had been before his disappearance.

To risk his school and students was probably because of the wand he had seen sticking out from the older man´s pocket, if his suspicions were true than Dumbledore was the current holder of the Elder Wand. Even if Voldemort did stroll into the school he wouldn´t be subtle about it, not with the amount of insanity he probably would have after a decade as a shade, not a ghost and not a spirit. That Dumbledore was wearing the Wand meant that, even if he was very careful with its use, the Call of the artefact was already strong enough for him to dislike the thought of leaving it behind.

Excusing himself by Ron and Hermione because of a headache he went into the dorm and opened his well warded secret trunk compartment from which he removed a black leather-bound book, the third that he would soon have filled.

Not bothering to order his thoughts he began to write all his new discoveries down, if he let his mind supply him with thoughts and conclusion without him trying to order them he usually remembered things he had not paid much attention to sooner instead of forcing himself to order everything now and only realizing something vital when he read over it again in a few days. Once done there was only one question left and it was glaring back at him from the recently filled page. Would his father like the gift?

If Harry Potter were to tackle saving the stone, which would lead to its destruction or some such nonsense, he would probably do it in the last possible moment, meeting the “bad guy” along the way. There had to be protections placed around the stone, one of which would be the Mirror. While it’s main purpose was to drive enemies insane the Mirror, like most of this kind of artefact, had several other little abilities, one of which was the possibility of hiding something within the surface with a specific trigger to retrieve it later.

Those triggers could be something simple like an Emotion or a wish or something as hard as a certain intention or specific phrase. Without the trigger the object would stay hidden and couldn´t be removed even if the Mirror was destroyed. The sane Voldemort would be able to get the stone, especially with his recent travels and his son who had studied artefacts during his N.E.W.T.s in Runes, Arimancy and his Masteries in Warding and Crafting.

The insane Voldemort, however wouldn´t stop to solve the puzzle that was the Mirror in which case the stone truly was lost. But the insane Dumbledore wouldn´t get it out either as there might be another line of protection about intact sanity.

This meant that he would need to retrieve the stone anyway! The trigger could be anything at least if you did not add Voldemort to the equation. His father feared death and had gone to great lengths to ensure his Immortality. While he was no longer insane he would still come to get the stone just because of that.

What if it wasn´t the need to protect something a Dark wizard could use against him and his friends but something much more easy, like the fact that one only wished to find the artefact but not to use it. His insane father would want it to use it, would demand its release for his ultimate goal.

Finding and Protecting were his best shots. If the old coot was unable to get the stone out he might have the Desire to use the stone as well, which would mean that the Wand had much more control over the old man than he had assumed. Or there simply was something like fear of death that no one ever assumed of the Order of Merlin First class recipient.

Of course, it could be as simple as Albus fearing for the Mirror if it met the insane Dark lord in which case he would need his Hero to save not only the stone but the Mirror as well, and that particular thought led to much more problems. When Dumbledore wanted to keep the Mirror and fake the destruction of the stone he would need to figure out which other highly addicting Dark artefacts the old man had lying around this school or carrying with him at all times.

He could presume that Dumbledore was aware of his addiction and the fact that neither the Mirror nor the Wand were going to give him something back, those artefacts took something from the one that “held” them. Especially if said holder was Light and lacked the Dark Affinity needed to stand a chance. Thus, his theory about Dumbledore being sane but addicted was filled with another world of problems.

What would the Leader of the Light do with Dark artefacts that acted faster and much more brutal with people that were not supposed to have them? If he had the Rosetta Stone, well that would be bad even though it was a Light artefact and could be used for his and his people’s own sake instead of holding onto Dark objects that took away and gave only fake Emotion of elation, for Light people the Dark felt as wrong as he himself felt wrong staying in Gryffindor surrounded by Light people.

There were enough shades of Grey in the whole school to keep it to a simple churning of his belly and occasional shudders and the feeling of chocking but the principle remained the same.

Dumbledore had emphasized the “what you desire” part by adding the undertone and changing the wording to make it sound like “even if you don´t know it yet”. That one could lose his mind by simply seeking out the mirror and staring into it was not as important a lesson as the fact that the Mirror showed ones heart´s desire. When the Mirror was Dumbledore’s line of defence all teachers were aware of the artefact and the need to protect it. 

Snape would have added something related to potions as having Harry save the stone excluded using Severus intense knowledge of the Dark Arts or anything related to it. It wouldn´t do to allow Harry to confront his inner demons by having to figure out something concerning the Dark Arts. Especially as he would be able to figure it out because of his inner demons which was a can of worms the Headmaster did not wish to open. Sprout would add plants, of course and while he seriously disliked dealing with them the importance of those protections wasn´t so much meant to keep a Dark Lord from reaching the stone but test a mediocre, elven year olds abilities.

Sweet Darkness and Salazar´s silver shorts, he needed to take the two thugs with him he had acquired as Harrys friends. Harry alone wouldn´t be able to get through it, he wasn´t that good at remembering anything and thus he would need his walking encyclopaedia and the other thug.  At least the moment where Harry went to save the stone those children had to come with him.

Slowly he began to list all teachers and his suspicions before he went about various plans. The Gryffindor he was acting as would charge in when he believed the stone to be in grave danger, so there would be a huge clue, like Dumbledore leaving and the teachers unwilling to listen to a warning. It wouldn´t be hard to hide the knowledge of the traps and allow the mudblood and blood traitor to do most of the work, allowing them to handle most of the traps would even strengthen this “friendship” of theirs and make the impression of Harry “needing” them for every and all of his adventures.

If Dumbledore leaving was the huge clue for Harry to act it would be stupid to wait for Dumbledore to leave until he made his move, and while he could use Dark Magic and be done in less than 20 minutes, regardless of what awaited him, he had enough other abilities that wouldn´t trigger hidden wards that were there to aid Harry should the insane thief start getting irritated.

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Sitting at the Gryffindor table he smirked, hoping that it looked happy or relieved instead of triumphant, he felt another wave of elation wash over and through him. He was too euphoric to bother milling over the unfairness of awarding “last minute points” after a whole House had been celebrating for several days because they believed to have won the House cup.

Redecorating the Hall an hour before all students left for summer break was taking House degrading too far, after all but he had stolen the stone and then allowed his attachments to rule the show, switched out the potions from the one that would allow safe passage to one that led to poisoning while still allowing him to pass meant that he arrived in the Chamber, intending to save the stone only to pass out from poisoning.

The mudblood know-it-all had gotten a well-deserved blow to her inflated ego, the stone was still “stuck” in the Mirror and all was well. His elation of getting the stone was shared with the elation of missing the end of year exams, he had really been cautious about them as they were self-updating and he doubted his ability to play dumb while still dancing mentally on Dumbledore’s grave while throwing around the gold made with the stone.

Passing the self-updating test up to N.E.W.T level in most subjects would have ruined all of the hard work and acting of a whole year of school. Getting the Headmaster to throw a semi-public temper tantrum wasn´t worth the issue of ruining every chance of continuing with his main objective, which was spying.

Instead he had missed the test, stolen the Philosopher´s stone, dealt the unnerving girl with bushy hair a huge blow to her ego, found several interesting titbits information and would soon return to his home and bed while in the possession of The Cloak of Invisibility on top of it all. Yes, the effort had been well worth it!

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Lord Voldemort sat behind his mahogany desk in his study, watching his son with slight apprehension and amusement. Daemon had returned home calm and collected, released some of the tension of the past year in the following two weeks after donning his glamour’s and had then begun to spoon feed him all the information he had collected.

That changed when his Angel told him about the true origin of the Deathly Hallows. As he had not bothered to pester his son about his school subjects during their six years in America and had been too immersed in his own studies the fascinating if useless tale would have only angered him at that time. Getting handed the Cloak of invisibility after the nearly gleeful backstory did change his stance on that particular topic and he secretly wondered about all the other fascinating and probably useful things his son had learned.

Where it would have angered and bored him then it now was a very useful piece of information, especially when one took Albus possession of the Elder Wand in consideration. He did not doubt his son´s word, trusting him and knowing that everything his son “thought to be highly likely” was usually very true.

After a rundown of several other highly interesting facts concerning Slytherin house and it´s Head his little angel had gone silent for another week, which allowed him to attend several meetings to bring some stones into motion and file on the glamour´s he and his son needed, especially the one he would need to look like “Snakey” again.

Now, however, his son had entered his study with a sly smile on his face, without waiting for permission to enter, which was as out of character as he had ever seen his son. Instead of punishing him, which he really ought to do, he waited for the next world changing information. “It is very late, I am aware, but I still wish to give you a very late Birthday present, father!”

The sly smile morphing into one of cheek caused him to pause once again and watch as his Angel produced a beautifully crafted black box from inside his right pocket. It was homemade, which meant that his son had spent several hours in his workroom to get all the protections, runes and carvings he wanted. Opening the lid with the care Daemons presents deserved he felt the wards of the box wash over him, took one look inside and felt himself stiffen in surprise, unable to stop staring.

The box was laid out with obsidian black silk and in the middle lay a vial filled with a ruby red potion next to a beautiful equally ruby red stone. Both things shimmered with the magic within them. “My angel..”, he stopped unable to find suitable words or to look away from his present. “My very late birthday present are the..”, he had to pause again. “Elixir of live and Philosopher´s stone?”, his son prompted gently a serene smile on his face, the smile only he got to see.  “How?”  “That is a story for another day, father!”, with that his son kissed his right cheek and turned.

“Forgive me for disturbing you!”, and with that he left leaving him to figure out what exactly he was currently feeling and thinking while he stared at the box and what was in it. Once he had figured out that he genially cared for his son and felt happy about this huge sign of trust he tried to gently close the box, but stopped when he noticed the clasp underneath the visible part. Opening the secret compartment, he felt his mouth form a huge smile as he found his Angels neat calligraphy atop a leather bound jade green book.

It were his sons notations, taken during his experiments with the stone to figure out how to produce gold and the elixir. He definitely needed a new Birthday present for his son; the one he had already acquired was no longer fitting. It was their deep connection that allowed him to know just what present would fit the occasion.

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His Angel was in his work room, or crafting room where he kept all his fabrics, stones, woods and metals as well as all the tools he needed for his beloved crafting and warding. Jade green eyes sprinkled with obsidian black were focused on the delicate white gold chain lying innocently on the table. His son was currently inscribing rune after rune, his ever present notebook (there were many of them in his rooms) mere inches to his left. It was his habit to write down his ideas, mill over possible materials and approaches before he began to search for fitting runes and possible results before he began to experiment in earnest.

Everything from failure to success was then written down as well, which led to a beautifully written general Theory book that held certain sets of runes, materials and other such things that worked well together in various tested combinations. Rune sets that did not fit and were explosive could be found in there as well, they´d had their share of explosions, after all.

Because of that the wards around every work room, ritual room and potions lab were custom-made by his Angel. The last time his beloved son had experimented with some new stone or other material that turned out to be highly explosive had led to half of their manor collapsing, after all. Using force to get the material and runes to do something specific had, in retrospect, been one of his sons less than stellar moments as both the rune combination and the material had then done the exact opposite of what his son wished to achieve.

That this specific experiment was part of what was now their warding scheme made the dangers of this particular venture very clear, especially if one was a gifted young Dark Magician with the creativity to go with it. Granted, the last time his experiments exploded had been over four years ago but his son, like him, was a cautious bastard and fashioned the ward schemes the moment he could move again.

Those specific wards were running on the power of the ley lines beneath their castle and would activate in their default protection setting the moment either of them entered them, in his case the ritual room and potions lab while his son had his own potions lab and the work room. They each had several sets of experiment rooms and wards especially as those rooms had different sizes. Once the owner had entered and closed the door nothing happening inside could affect the rest of the building.

The big work room of his son was located in the castles wing that belonged to his son and took up half of the first dungeon, the other half was a potions lab with two huge storage rooms. Finding the most dangerous combinations no one suspected to be dangerous the first time his Angel hid himself away to experiment had been the reason for this detailed note taking.

Daemon had found that several potions, those he had told Severus to make and use in the last war, could be infused into certain stones which would then double or triple the potions potency, it worked for some less lethal potions as well, which was why his son had given in to getting his own potions lab. He was aware, of course, that potions wasn´t a subject his son liked or loved or had any passion for- but he still was an excellent brewer and had, at his calm suggestion begun and finished a Mastery in the subject.

The default setting of the wards had two sequences- the first was of course the protection of everything around the room, the second prevented anyone not keyed into the wards and aware of the changing password to be sent back upstairs with no memory of ever having found a dungeon with closed doors. It was one of the tamest wards his son had ever come up with as it moderated the intruder’s memory according to offense (if they found the room, tried the knob and shrugged or if they tried to enter by force) and the most powerful as well.

According to his son, which he did not doubt one second, the moderation of wards to respond in kind and fine tune it depending of the subjects set of mind and Affinity was a very complicated, deliberate and time consuming thing- which basically translated to: “I am one of six people in the whole world that can do this at all, father. If you keep insisting on questioning me on my progress I will gladly ask one of the other five to do it and allow them to bore you at all times with what exactly they are doing at any given time!?”

Which amounted to the most cheek and disrespect his son would ever use towards him and it was highly likely that his son only used it to keep him away from deadly mishaps by accidentally stepping onto something or touching something he rather shouldn´t, especially if he was not the one working on the wards but just standing around and watching the process. Knowing just what his son was capable of, the deep trust he felt for the young man and the simple truth that his son could deal with most self-inducted danger were reason enough for him to stay clear of his son´s two rooms.

Daemon would use proper respect concerning any room he was currently in, aware of the fact that he would gain permission to enter once the danger was over or the important part was done and patiently wait for it, he had learned to do the same concerning his son´s dungeon rooms. Sending down house-elves had cost him two of those ugly but useful creatures and he had liked those two as they had been the most submissive and snivelling towards him, which was why he never tried to get his son to eat once he was down there.

Usually his son would leave the rooms after maximum three days looking exhausted, slightly hurt and three out of ten times as if he had not managed to achieve his goal. It was now the middle of the fifth week of holidays and his Angel had not left his work room for the past four days, which was slightly worrying in his mind. Thus he had calmly walked down, hissing out the passwords required to get him to where he wanted to be before he knocked. Should Angel not answer after three knocks something had gone dangerously wrong.

When he was forced to knock a second time he felt his heart skip a beat and his chest to constrict painfully. Should his son be hurt he would lock him up for at least one week and “fuss” over him, if he was still alive, that is. At times like these he couldn´t help the small wish that his son was just an average kid with little to no imagination and passionate about History of magic or cauldron thickness. Or that he had shut down his son´s experiments before they even began, to have discouraged it more instead of allowing it and getting only irritated if things like collapsing homes happened.

These were, of course, the instincts of a father speaking as he moved to knock a third time, feeling something akin to fear rise in his chest. Images of his son deadly injured or death were not something he liked to deal with in the best of his moods, pictures that became clearer as he noted the absence of a response which led to his third knock.

He had never cared for anyone. Their similarities and the fact that they had needed each other to move forward, while staying sane for more than eight years had only deepened this feeling for both of them. He feared what would happen if he lost the only person he honestly and deeply cared about because he had been on a meeting. He had not been there, because this one day might have made all the difference and because he had allowed those experiments to further their cause.

His angel wouldn´t ignore his knocking, not twice, not when they had established this system after he had left his son to experiment without supervision. That said experiment had gone smoothly was, in his mind, still beside the point. That he had been furious and had punished his son for this went without saying, but it was the fact that his child had accepted the punishment without so much than a whispered “But” or any kind of impertinence concerning the fact that nothing had gone wrong was why he loved the boy.

“Dad..” it was soft and nearly inaudible. His son calling him dad was much rarer than one of his serene smiles, his voice that weak was by far the rarest of it all. Fear gripping his heart, chest and gut he hissed the passwords that would allow him to enter and walked into the room, faster than was usual for him. The desk and several shelves were destroyed, or nearly pulverised, the pieces embedded into the wall or floor. A golden plate of seven inches radius lay where the workbench should have been, glowing a dangerous pink and moving downwards as if it was trying to destroy the floor and castles foundation.

The walls were torched and everything was ripped to pieces, nothing had survived the apparent bombing. If Daemon was able to move he would have repaired it all, as long as his son could move this room would not be allowed to remain in this state for long. He finally found him leaning at the far wall of the room behind what used to be his storage cupboard, various materials lying about and none of them still intact.

Whatever had happened had caused a chain reaction leading to several smaller explosions. The fact that the cupboard was still recognisable meant that his angel had shielded himself. The calm but pale face of his angel told him that his son had done everything he could to heal himself before magical exhaustion took over. His beautiful jade-obsidian eyes were staring at him, unseeing, which meant that his son was either temporarily blinded or permanent blind. It did explain why his son hadn´t already gone to retrieve the potions required to heal him, the room was a warzone, the thing that caused it still active and he couldn´t see- all factors that kept him sitting on the floor while leaning on the wall.

“My Angel!” while he still felt the fear curse through his body only the worry he felt could be heard in his voice. His son smiled wryly, his wonderful hair tousled and torched in such a way it resembled the Potter mop of hair nearly perfectly. That he was shivering meant that he had lost too much blood and that the magical exhaustion had come from healing all those major wounds.

Without the shield he had used he would have found his body instead of a son he might be able to save. Casting every diagnostic he knew his fear tried to turn into panic. Magical exhaustion, three broken ribs, one that had been shattered but repaired, three burst blood vessels that had been taken care of as well as three major wounds in his son´s gut, on his back and on his left foot that were all healed. To the list came the blindness, the fever and all the other healed wounds, the fact that his broken right arm had healed badly at all two places where it was broken and internal damage his son hadn´t noticed or no longer been able to heal. Picking Angel up with great care he ignored the bag clutched in his son´s hand and carried him upstairs into their private infirmary.

Angel snuggled against his chest but was unresponsive otherwise; he had fallen asleep in his arms. His nearly nineteen year old son had known of his body´s situation and forced himself to stay awake trusting that he would be found by his father. Gently placing his son on the second bed he repeated his scans and began to call all required potions and slaves to him. Nearly everything in their shared stock was brewed by his son; while he did love potions brewing he lacked the time to do it himself most of the time.

They had needed a stock; however and thus his son had filled the infirmary with one. His Angel lying still in the bed looked very small for the 6’5’’ he was at and his age. Daemons eyes were still closed but he did swallow the potions. Undressing his son with one elegant flick of his wand he began to apply the slaves onto the various wounds and scars before he followed it up with another bunch of potions and sat down beside the bed calling the book he had wanted to read to him, settling down for a long time of waiting.

Angel stirred after two days in a healing sleep. He had hardly left his son´s side and was still unsure if he should start with the lecture or the punishment first. A small part of him, however, was amused as those two days had given him ample opportunity to notice that most of their jewellery, furniture, potions and many other things were either made by one of them or altered by them in some kind.

“Father!” Angel´s raspy voice ended his musings and he automatically supplied the young man with a glass of water. Between the both of them visits to the infirmary had been frequent, which was why he had seen the need to have one in the first place. Once his son had emptied the glass he began to slowly sit up, grabbed the bag he had clutched previously and gently placed it in front of his father.

Had he not returned one day sooner, if the negations had lasted as long as he had anticipated, his son would be dead or so close to it that his using potions wouldn´t make a difference. But instead of pointing that out he took the bag and opened it. Fighting the urge to destroy the bag and its contest out of principle, he began to remove what was in it, with the great care his son´s little toys usually deserved.

First came the all too familiar leather bound book but this one was obsidian black and inscribed with runes, blood runes- his sons blood. Opening it with the highest amount of care he found one half filled with endless parchment while the other half held a mirror. It was a communication journal tied to each of them with wards to deceive Dark Magic Wards and detectors. The engraved wards, if he had memorised his sons explanations of specific ward sets right, would ensure a false negative each time the journal was tested telling the person testing the journal that it was nothing but a harmless book or one of those journals the office supply sold.

His copy was black, that of his son a pale white with the same bloodred blood runes. Death and Conquest. Smirking briefly he put the journals to the side and removed the next item only for his eyes to widen slightly. His son had discovered the best guarded secret of the whole world. In his hand he held another philosophers stone. Angel had not only figured out how to make the elixir, he had figured out how to make an unlimited supply of the stone itself. Up until a few weeks ago there only had been one such stone, now there were two and Daemon could make more if he desired to.

Looking up he noted that said son had drifted off to sleep again which allowed him to smile broadly for several moments before he put the stone away and removed the next item. It was a beautiful white gold necklace infused with pieces of his son´s birthday present, the resurrection stone that had held the largest piece of his soul besides Salazar´s amulet. The necklace was inscribed with powerful runes and he had to drag out his limited knowledge of his son´s work to finally figure out that this necklace would solve his glamour problem.

He still hadn´t found a way to alter the ritual for his Snake glamour like he had wished to do. The ring had been woven into the white gold inlaid with titanium, pieces of it, all around the necklace. It was another of those things that should have been impossible as the soul piece was still intact even though his son had split up its container- that all of the pieces were infused in the same necklace should not matter for the piece of his soul.

With the addition of the power of the stone and the memory he had given his soul the glamour was much more powerful than the one he had used. “A sacrifice every 20 years should suffice!” Looking up he met his son´s thankfully clear eyes and nodded, unable to form words. A human sacrifice every 20 years would keep the necklace going for another 20 years without any drain on his magic or his magical reserves. Daemon gently touching his arm caused him to looks up.

“A human is not meant to hold all of the Hallows at once. There was a reason why each was made by another Necromancer. They never shared them with each other. The ring accepted you by allowing your soul to be placed inside it, if it hadn´t the stone would have destroyed you and your soul completely and probably would have ceased to exist as well. Because I am yours by blood, magic and soul the stone allowed me to split it up and the soul decided to stay. You will have to wear the necklace, but I made it invisible and removed it´s weight once it touches skin..”, his son trailed of and he moved upwards to kiss his Angel´s forehead, knowing that he was still too weak to talk.

Smiling at the young man he put the necklace where it belonged, unsurprised that he felt the control snap to him and that he failed to feel it´s weigh. Trailing over it with his finger, it was as if there was no necklace. Feeling for the necklace, he began to test out its ability changing into his snake-glamour and back again. It was a smooth, instant change. There was nothing besides the gently breeze of power that indicated that anything was happening his own magic was untouched. Unsurprised that there was yet another object in the bag he removed it. The box, of which he hoped to be the last item in this damn bag, held two bracelets made of titanium inlaid with leather to cushion the metal, both materials filled with runes while strategically placed gems were embedded within the titanium.

There was acromulata silk woven into the leather that turned out to be a pocket for a wand. Those bracelets were much more powerful than those they were currently using and would turn invisible the moment he placed one of them on his upper arm. It also showed just how artful his son fashioned all of his crafting’s. If his son decided to run away he could easily earn his living through fashioning this kind of jewellery and make a fortune out of it. This was why he loved crafting, why he had bowed to the Mastery in Potions as long as he could get the one in Crafting.

His son would never run away, of course, or defy him, and he would never start selling protective gear to everyone and their kneazle but selling jewellery without any magical properties in this quality would suffice to earn him a Castle in two years after starting up his business. Everyone would seek him out once he had had two or three costumers. For a brief moment he thought about Daemons career options should their plan and duty of world domination fail.

Because his Angel could make such a Career in three different areas, Potions, even though he was dispassionate, Warding and Crafting. “You are aware of the fact that you still will not see the inside of your workroom or the door leading to it for the next two weeks?” His son smiled at him briefly before he drifted back off to sleep. While he was impressed, overwhelmed and filled with pride he wouldn´t allow his son entry in his dungeon. And this was only one part of the punishment that was meant to ensure that his son would heal properly before damaging himself again so soon after nearly dying.

Daemon had, after all, only awoken after two days out of sheer stubbornness and not because he was anywhere near a healed state. Even the blindness could return, this little stunt might ensure that some of the healing stopped or did not move fast enough. But he would punish his son and there would be a lecture, once he was sure that Daemon was strong enough to move through the castle again and that there was no damage left.                

 

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“My angel?” the young man looked up from the Dark Arts paper he had promised his former teacher to write and publish. He had done so for all of his Mastery subjects and some others at his teachers’ insistence and earned several galleons for his publicized papers. His current paper was somewhat theoretical and would be published in several international papers as it dealt with the Branch of Voodoo and how it had its own Light and Dark sides and that both were in some kind bound to the concept of Karma.

“Yes, father?” “Retrieve the diadem, during next year!” “Of course, father!”, his son answered calmly, his paper discarded and quill carefully placed upon his inkwell, jade-obsidian eyes fixated on him. If only his Minions were only half as intelligent and attentiative, they would have won despite his insanity!

“I am aware of the fact that you planned to do Harry Potters shopping and other matters tomorrow, but you will have to postpone it!” “Will I be able to finish in time or shall I take one of our last time-turners?” “You should be able to finish in time, but using a ritual can´t hurt, either!” His son nodded, both aware of the emphasis of the word “you” and why it was there he simply bowed his head briefly before asking: “Romania?”

“Bulgaria and you will be careful!” Another bow of his son´s head, then their eyes met once more. “Is there anything else, father?” His lips twitched briefly and he decided on the whole truth as he titled his head and milled over his answer. “Several things, none of which I will say aloud and those that remain are too childish to be even worth the consideration!”

Daemon reacted by smiling his angelic smile at him. “I do not tend to forget your lectures and usually do not repeat mistakes such as exhausting myself, father. Attending Hogwarts is necessary, you know that better than I do. And I too love you!”, with that the smile got broader and vanished as his son watched him leave growling slightly as his lips twitched.

The growling was mostly show, after all, but his son would never dare to laugh, knowing that it would anger him. Only once the door closed behind him did he allow himself to relax and smile as he heard his Angel´s soft chuckle and the scratching of a quill.

Entering his own study, he sat down, looking at the picture of his son that was glamoured to look like a calendar. He had raised his son the way he would have raise any child, hard, painful at times with iron control and clear rules and limitations. There had been no tears, protests or rebellions, for rebellions there was the official few years, after all.

Being each other’s confidants and friends as well as motivation had caused this father and son relationship to include the occasional banter, apparent reading of mind, moments of unashamed brutal honesty and some pretended things like growling or pouting that were part of their relationship and the balance they had found therein.

None of this would change. Even though they were not some plebeian father with his plebeian son but The Dark Lord and his Heir. There were duties and expectations as well as a certain etiquette interwoven with their lives and how they acted and reacted.

Being aware of one another’s buttons and the knowledge that his son would never cross the rules or push his buttons while he would respect deals they had made over the past years had gone a long way to deepen the trust and respect that was important for their relationship not only as Dark Magicians, a father and his son but a Dark Lord and his Heir. All those little shows of affection, the little jokes and pretended feelings would never happen outside of their private rooms.

No one would see this side of their relationship. Daemon was the perfect Pureblood heir, attentiative, intelligent, aware of the rules and his own limitations, aware that his father´s word was law and not once showing signs of cracking under the pressure. He doubted that anyone could beat him when it came to showing off kids- his son was the Heir he should be.

The years in America and the official “test” or rather “rebellion” of his son had helped both of them concerning physical and mental health and to find their personal limitations. It were those six years, that strengthened their bond and balance. Removing his eyes from the picture he faced the huge amount of paperwork to his left and sighed before he began to work through all of his correspondence, reports and whatever else was in the damn tower of parchment.

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The Chamber of secrets was as dirty as one could expect after having been neglected for over 50 years. Someone had set Loki, the basilisk, loose. Said someone was using his father´s diary. He loved his father, cared for him and above all respected the man but he had been unstable from his fifteenth birthday onwards and it had only gotten worse with this ridiculous amount of soul splitting, it was his opinion of course, and his father would never hear anything regarding this maniac desire to stay alive.

A Horucx wasn´t bad, he even saw the logic in making three or four, but designing a diary in such a way that it could be used to open the Chamber was too dependent on unpredictable factors. Loki could not smell the difference between Muggle or Wizard, because there was no such difference in smell and blood, at least until you did not draw some of it and looked through a microscope. It was the smell of feelings like disdain, not belonging that led the King of Serpents to its victims with a wonderful cruel enchantment, but if the “victim” under the diary’s possession was too weak. Basically, all of those things would not factor into the beast’s hunger and decisions.

Continuing his silent journey, collecting the shed skins and anything else of remote interest he looked very carefully at the enchantments and runes all around the Chamber. Because of the deep slumber Loki fell into, if no one of Slytherin blood was near, the snake had to make up for all those years with no biological change. It meant that the creature had had to regrow a new set of fangs, had to shed several skins and was very hungry.

Due to this regeneration period his father had managed to acquire a huge fortune by just selling those parts after waking Loki after thousand years. While he had no issues with the current situation he had to find the person currently possessed and his father´s diary- it wouldn´t do to destroy it as Harry Potter without having the knowledge of how it came back to the school. Finally done with his collecting and taking notes of some of the runes and other formulae he called the king of serpents to ask the questions he needed an answer to.

A girl with a soft voice, red hair and she smelled like the victims Loki usually choose. Ginevra Weasley. The young piece of soul belonging to his father possessed a blood traitor girl that was obsessed with Harry Potter. Tapping into the brilliance that were his ancestors wards he sent the basilisk back to sleep. The little insecure girl would not be able to control the beast and the young Tom riddle wouldn´t know enough of the last decades to be sure about the ancestry of his victims.

He doubted that his father´s soul piece bothered all too much with absolute control over the girl concerning victims as long as he could drain her live energy as fast as possible. He might be able to redirect the creature towards the Mudbloods, but it was additional work he simply did not have the time for. Allowing his father´s 17 year old self to throw a temper tantrum and focus on gaining the live energy was the easiest and less time consuming option, after all.

The damn shade didn´t even manage to kill those kids, all around the castle every muggelborns was petrified and nothing else. Not even the damn cat was dead, what use would it have to let the scheme continue anyway. Sighing he ensured that nothing would wake Loki before he took several more notes and left the Chamber. His father´s brilliance not accounted for he let loose a little curse. With his policy of not trusting anyone this disaster had been unavoidable.

If the diary managed to gain a body magic would prevent the paradox by removing one of the other. One soul could only exist once in a time period. It could be split and put into inanimate objects but it could not occupy two animate objects without one of them dying long before their time. He wasn´t about to let Luck throw the dice and find to have to deal with a younger boy, which happened to be his father and had gone down the spiral staircase towards insanity. He was to egoistical and used to his current live to allow a 17 year old brat to ruin his current situation.

Regardless of the fact that said brat was a piece of his father´s soul; he was not going to allow it.

+Have you succeeded, Daemon?+ *Yes, father I am in the possession of your diadem and diary since yesterday!* There was a long pause after he answered his father through the journal. He could nearly picture it, the bloodred eyes reading over his answer, repeating it before they widened only to then narrow and fill with murderous intent. *Killing Lucius would require a modification of our plans, my beloved father!* Waiting for the response he leaned back against the bedframe.

Killing Lucius would not only need adjustments but also cause some problems they could just as easily forego by keeping the blond alive. +Is it whole?+ *with the exception of the sanity of the soul piece, it is. I will bring it home, father!* closing the journal after that, aware that there would not be any further comment he put it back into his secure trunk compartment and looked at the diary in front of him.

+Hello, Tom! I am Alexis!+ There was a pause as the ink seemed to be sucked up by the book, then *You know my name?* raising one eyebrow at that he closed the book, looked at the spine and opened it once more several questions popping into his head.

+You are aware of the fact that it is titled: Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle?+  *Ginerva never mentioned anyone named Alexis!* +This was the worst attempt at changing the subject I have ever had the misfortune of partaking in. Besides, little GinGin wouldn´t think of mentioning a young man she does not know of, now would she?+

 

*How did you manage to get a hold of the diary, Slytherin student?* +I took it, of course. Little GinGin won´t miss it, she kind of forgot it even existed!+

*Moron, why would you do something like that?* +Because, Tommy, there can only exists one soul inhibiting a body at any given time. The same soul inhibiting two body’s would cause a paradox. It´s hardly my fault that you had not ensured that none of your Horucxes could activate, while your main soul still inhibited it´s body. *What?!*

 

Smirking briefly he found he rather liked messing with the seventeen year old boy giving him information he could not possible have had researched. +There are, at any given time for a certain period of time, millions of souls roaming the earth not all of them inhibiting a corporal body. A Human being may split his or her soul and if such a human happens to be Magical he or she can then place this piece into non-sentient, non-organic objects. We can split our soul six times, which makes seven pieces of soul, and only one of them in corporal form. Such a split, where the other pieces are secured away in objects, breaks the limitation of the soul´s time on earth. All pieces can remain in the same time period and longer at any given time. Should two pieces of the same soul inhibit a sentient, organic, animate object, a Human in this case, their presence at the same time, would mean that they negate each other out. You would basically leave all other containers useless and destroy either the one recently in a body or the main piece. Or both.

 

Living a very long time is the idea behind it, that one would not die, but the principle of the matter is that one would need to ensure the survival of the body as well if one wished to stay coperal, that is and that if there is a piece already in possession of a body the activation of one or several more would negate each end every remaining piece. This are the rules, rules that apply even with Dark Lords. The rules have, after all, not been made by Humans but Lady Magic herself.+

 

*Liar! The research I did and my sources would have mentioned it, would have warned me!*

+Sweet Darkness, child, reading a lot of books that have not even half of the required information is not something you should call research! Experimenting with the Dark to see our limitations is one thing but presuming that there are no limitations is simply stupid!+ There was a long pause from the diary until:*Stupid child?*

+Selective hearing, huh?+ *What?* +the misfortune of hearing what one wants to hear, or the ability to ignore the uncomfortable truth and focus on the information with the least bit of usefulness to prevent oneself from progress and learning!+ *I resent that!* +because it is the truth, or because you only heard the last few words?+

Another long silence, which made some of the differences between his teenage father and the man he was now nearly painfully clear. *Why can´t I feel your live force?* Well, it was selective hearing at its best but he doubted that the teenager would be able to manipulate people who were darn good at manipulating themselves. While at Hogwarts Tom had not played with Albus, after all, avoiding him had been more than enough at that time and later he had moved away and roamed the world which decreased the danger Dumbledore presented. +In order to allow you to feel my life force I would have to be willing to allow you to feel it. And as I have no intention of allowing you to gain a body I will not even bother to pour out my heart. It all solves my little time problem nicely!+

Watching as the diary slammed shut he smiled fondly; at least the attitude was recognisable. Putting it in his secure compartment he got up and moved around before he would go to sleep, it wouldn´t do to allow Harry Potter to look rested.

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Angry blood red letters were glaring back at him from the wall near the bathroom. Titling his head in slight irritation he noted the wording and frowned. “This isn´t possible!” Saying so he turned around irritated and annoyed, not noticing the black clad man hiding several feet away in a niche. “Harry! Harry!” Looking at the unusually pale boy running towards him with the usual disarray called school uniform and the usual stains of food on it all he briefly wondered how Blood traitors couldn´t at least ensure that their offspring’s tried to look proper or at the very least clean to maybe be taken seriously every once in a while.

“Yes, Ron?” “It is Ginny! She´s missing! We have to do something!” Feeling his blood lust rise he calmly met the dirty blue eyes that matched the dirty clothes, uncared for red hair and freckled face, of Ronald Bilius Weasley. “Like you did when you noticed that she was becoming frequently ill, unhealthy pale and anti-social?” “Huh?” Focusing on his sarcasm as outlet instead of killing the stupid git right then and there he smirked at him, knowing that Ron would interpret it as he wished anyway.

“Ginny? Yes, we should do something! How about telling the teachers?” “Seriously? Oi, why don´t you do something?” “Why would I do anything about the little chit?” “Huh?” Growling he drew his wand and erased the redhead’s memory of the encounter. Turning he removed the memory from everything around him, portraits and house elves and everything else that was enchanted to have a memory. Once done he looked at Ron noting that the boy´s eyes returned to normal.

Noting the blonde teen glancing around the corner, he refocused his attention to Ron, too preoccupied with the fact that he was slipping up after less than two years. “Ginny? Damn. Come, it´s a good thing we know where she is!” It wasn´t that dramatic to slip up while near the stupid git that couldn´t focus on anything that wasn´t chess or food for longer than two minutes, but that he was slipping up at all what bothered him. Harry Potter wasn´t sarcastic, ever, period.

Fighting the urge to kill someone very slowly and without magic he led the way, noting their audience and deciding that he had much more important issues to solve than Malfoy and Snape playing spy.

Schooling his face into a blank mask that would be interpreted as angsty by everyone that wasn´t intelligent and Slytherin he sped up his steps while grabbing hold of Ron’s arm, who was babbling all the time. How they ended up in Lockhart’s office, however, was anyone’s guess. He should seriously stop thinking in Harry Potter situations.

“Why are you packing?” Ron´s voice caused him to snort as the answer ran through his mind #Because he is a fraud and shitting himself, you genius# Finding both Ron and Lockhart staring at him dumbfounded he growled again erasing their mind and freezing them and the time. Slowly he began to pace. It wouldn´t do to act with his recent slip ups and no outlet as well as the huge puzzle concerning Ginny´s body lying somewhere. This wasn´t adding up.

The basilisk slept, the diary was safely secured in his trunk and the connection to Ginny had been broken. He had ensured it and that the girl wouldn´t remember anything. How could she end up in a chamber only those of Slytherin blood, and who they happened to possess, could enter? “Unless she isn´t in the chamber at all. He can´t enter as it´s protected by parseltounge which is hereditary, unless he managed to kill a speaker and has undergone several Rituals that might have caused impotence.. or colour-blindness…”, frowning he acknowledged that this was a possibility he couldn´t discard. But there were several other ways to look at that.

“If  a no longer possessed girl vanished to get the hero to save said girl in order to protect his “one true home”, where would you put said damsel in distress if you couldn´t physically access the one place the Hero would run to first. Putting her in danger would require access to some other monster, which begs the question of how this would play out and what would have happen after he saved his fangirl. A love match in the future?

Glaring hatefully at Ron, Lockhart and the room at large he resumed his pacing again dragging up all of his vast knowledge about Light magic and scurrile Rituals. The pacing felt appropriate and he finally understood why his father seemed to do it twice a day. He felt caged, he was slipping up and he was worried about his ability to stay at this school- there was too much negative energy and he needed an outlet that, for the time being at least, did not involve murder or manipulation.

“The Ritual of Hampshire..” stopping his pacing he glared at all the damn portraits as all the information flooded through him. The Ritual meant that the old coot did not need the ability to physically enter the chamber as the Ritual would just send a still object, regardless if it was made up of flesh, wood or metal, to a location the Master of the ritual had nothing but suspicions and indicators for.

Should someone then manage to get the school´s protection bird and keeper of the Wards, the damn phoenix, feel like the school was in grave danger the enchantments placed by Salazar would break- Loki was the second part of the last line of defence after all. The bird was probably distressed enough after watching Albus endanger its school with intend those past two years and while Salazar was brilliant, there was no doubting that he had lived nearly thousand years ago and couldn´t have known a way to specify wards to distinguish between emotions and their cause or their intensity.

“Assuming this was the case… the last line of defence would begin to take force and Salazar himself couldn´t stop his pet. That´s just insane, can´t you do sane things once in a while? Irritating, old, power hungry Lord of the Light!” Stopping his pacing he closed his eyes trying to evaluate every other possibility while adding in what he knew. #Lady, I know you usually wait and see how it plays out, but you are risking a whole generation!# He did not need to wait for an answer or any kind of reaction, she had waited much longer the last time her Champions were at large and out of control or any kind of sanity.

She wouldn´t stop one of her Champions, the Lord of Light, just because he was about to ruin a whole generation when the last time she acted actively was with her horsemen and only after they nearly succeeded in killing every living being. Not even the fact that her Light Champion was hording and using decidedly Dark artefacts would persuade her sooner, even though his very nature would not allow him to comprehend the artefacts and what they did to their full extend, not even after years spent studying them.

“One would think that the light side had the sane ones, those who are concerned about the lives and well-being of the people, but you would be wrong!” This little power play with GinGin gone was rather annoying. Fact was that his father was the chosen second Champion- The Lord of the Dark, and he was his Heir. He was his father´s proxy and the one that had the sacred duty to act in Voldemort´s stead. He couldn´t leave this situation unsolved, his “alter ego” was beside the point.

It became a moot point the moment the old coot used this particular ritual. This was about the Headmaster having too much influence and power and proving to be unpredictable.

It was his job to prevent mass destruction of a generation by Dumbledore because it was their job to reinstate balance. To receive the plus points because he did it while still under glamour and technically the Lights Saviour would only further his goals. His Lady would not interfere because the son of her Champion was already present and stuck in the middle of the whole disaster anyway with the knowledge of a 19 year old with five Masteries. If he succeeded he might earn himself a power surge, if he failed.. well his Lady wasn´t about fairness but balance.

If he failed everyone currently in this castle was dead, end of discussion. The only positive aspect besides the “alter ego” earns trust thing was that his failure would be added to Dumbledore’s “bad behaviour” chart and not accredited to his father. #I don´t care about them, some of them might have their uses but a whole bunch of them are nothing but useless body´s that can´t even comprehend our cause. What would happen if the generation died, concerning the balance anyway?# That was just his frustration and bloodlust speaking, he was aware of that but most of them should die, he wanted some of them to die. But Loki wouldn´t kill them in the manner he wished them to die.

“You do realize that I will cause someone a world of pain for this, that I will make at least one person pay for this?” gentle warm wind began to blow around and through him as the sound of silver bells filled the room. “Very glad to be the source of your amusement, my lady!” He hadn´t expected an answer to his question, even though laughter did feel wonderful and was hardly surprising. Feeling pure Darkness entering his body and his magic latch onto it, feeding from it he fought the weakness in his knees, refusing to collapse when he was gaining power and not losing it, but he did close his eyes and bowed his head.

Slowly the power surge died down and he needed to breathe slowly in and out, adjusting his posture as he was going to act as soon as possible. His eyes were no longer glamoured and obsidian black, his face showing his pleasure as his mouth twitched into a cruel smirk at the unclaimed, wild Dark magic that was now part of him. “Please let me know how I managed this, my lady, I do wish to repeat this experience as often as possible!” The bells sounded again, this time lower as if the amusement had another source before it all was gone. Only his obsidian black eyes, the elation he felt and the power cursing through his body a remembrance of what had happened.

Stretching out his hand he conjured the flame like he had done many years ago, changing its colour and shape to get a feeling for his new power. Unsurprised he noted that his iron control of his magic wasn´t as iron anymore, an attest to the additional amount he had been gifted with. Drawing his Harry Potter wand he cast several spells and curses to gauge the amount of care he would need to prevent overpowering for the next several months. Taming them and leashing the amount of magic each time he cast them did the trick.

Feeling confident that he wouldn´t rip someone apart by casting a simple Alohomora he flicked his wrist to return the wand to its holster and felt a thrill of anticipation when he thought of the summer break and his real wand. Drawing the second wand he ensured that all of his glamour´s were working again, reactivating the runes that had stopped working through the power surge. Once he had done all of that and checked by conjuring a mirror that he had achieved his goal he thought over his situation particularly the best approach for it, before he removed the time-freeze spell.

Telling the two idiots to follow him he ensured that every trace of what had transpired in the office was gone from the room and his wands as they moved to rescue GinGin. Slipping up was no option, not now. It was good that he took the second idiot with him as well and he calmly ensured that his Slytherin attachments were on his side of the cave in as he drew his wand, pretending to care about Ron´s well-being along the way, allowing the reluctant wand to dance in elegant, beautiful motions as he sealed all possible entrances to keep the basilisk where it was, should it have been set loose.

“While I would love to play with you and your mind..”, he said facing the two shell shocked snakes, both of them flinching away from him which only broadened his cruel smirk he calmly continued twirling his wand. “I find myself under pressure from time, do enjoy your day and the fact that I won´t allow you to become a security risk!” With that he stopped his little game and erased their memory, sending them back to their respective rooms and the time before they had begun following him.

 

                                                                


	4. Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again!   
> Here some things in a way of answer:  
> The Rituals used by Tom and Daemon were specifically set as to prevent biological growth to a certain extend (for the first three/ six years). Daemon did, however, grow during their stay in America and he actually is a 25 year old in the body of a 17 year old his biological age is hidden behind glamour’s that would need the detailed explanation of the rituals, which I did not ad for the simple reason that I never thought them important enough.  
> Lady Magic: Yes, she is an “active” Entity and has the ability to give gifts and take it away. She is not the nice, loving, caring kind of goddess but we will cover her extensively later!(and there will be other Lady´s to consider as well)  
> The Deathly Hallows: Four unique artefacts crafted by four unique Dark wizards that happened to be Necromancers and favoured by Lady Magic. Those four special men were and are known as the Four Riders of the Apocalypse, the four Horsemen because of how close they did come to obliterate Humankind and the dear animals and beast= short: All fucking live roaming the Planet Earth.  
> Conquest: Creator of the Cloak of invisibility and first of the Prevell line (Marcus Aurelius). His caution and panic concerning good behaviour to hide his past and not anger the Lady did backfire into a family curse. (Look at the Prevells now: Molly, Muriel and the cousin no one wants to speak about)  
> War: His flute got destroyed as he called for the Dementors and instead of getting his soul sucked out ended up one of those creatures as well  
> Death: Created the Elder Wand, a very blood thirsty little toy that keeps driving those holding it insane  
> Famine: Called Death back to life and got a surprise visit of the Dementor War on top of it. That´s what one gets by creating the Resurrection stone that sends powerful calls to retrieve the soul of loved ones.  
> Daemon has managed to have Masteries in Crafting (a combination of Runes, chemistry and general Biology concerning Metals, Stones and other fabrics), Warding (which requires Runes, Arimancy and Magical theory), Potions (Plants, Arimancy and this one was just because it was expected of him), Dark Magic (Well, he IS the Heir of the Dark Lord) and British Law (I´m not so sure myself why he bothered to take it up to master Level but I presume it has to do with his endurance, test of patience and the fact that someone had to know some of this shit)
> 
> “….” Means spoken language  
> *…* and **…** is writing as well as + and+ (concerning diary´s and journals)  
> #........# means thinking (the silent only mental kind)

“Father?” The gentle voice of his son drew his attention. Daemon couldn´t have been here for more than ten Minuit’s and was already seeking him out after another year at Hogwarts. Putting away the book he had been reading in their extensive library he noted his son´s straight posture and did the only thing that was left after having gotten an idea of what this was about.

“What happened?” “I slipped up, several times.” The world hadn´t started to burn, the school had not had a river of blood flooding out its doors and there was no mass panic, at least to his knowledge, which meant that those slip ups had been nothing but mistakes that had been corrected mere seconds after they had happened. He still probed his angel´s mind and let his son guide him to all those incidents. “You need an outlet.” It wasn´t a question and Daemon nodded, bowing his head briefly.

“You have done everything to correct your mistakes. I am aware of the fact that you are pretending to be something you are not, with character traits that aren´t yours and never have been. Pretending to be a person that hates your believes, emotions and fears your Affinity bordering on hatred with a huge amount of self-hatred. To tell you that you have disappointed me would be ignoring the fact that I never expected you to manage it this far any slip up! Learn from this mistake, as you have done after all others.”

Sending two stinging hexes at his son´s butt was all he saw necessary as first part of punishment and he calmly picked up his book and opened it again, settling in to read. “Pack a bag, angel. You are needed in South America!” His son left with a bow and he started reading again, in earnest. Allowing Daemon to blow off some steam and have time to get creative was just what he needed, he was hoping that this whole idiocy could end by Harry Potters third year anyway.

He disliked seeing his son disappointed in himself, but to coddle him or hug him wouldn´t be an appropriate reaction. It would lessen his Angels worth and rank if he gave him leeway. It was their way of live, it were the rules they followed. His son would come to him to report about mistakes and expected punishment only to take said punishment with proper grace and calm. Not punishing a high ranking and important Person meant that the person wasn´t worth the effort, that he wasn´t worth much and had gotten the position out of caring and relationship alone.

Once his son returned with a clear head and his words sunk in he would punish him, until then it would do none of them any good and wasn´t necessary. They both were Dark, High ranking, champions of magic and cruel. They followed the rules and laws of Lady Magic and the Darkness had no place for forgiveness or wrapping people into cushions. Mistakes were punished, period. Enemies would be destroyed and in order to regain balance a Hierarchy had to be maintained.

In a perfect world with no cruelty and harmony all around where one gave because he liked to give, he snorted briefly at trying and failing to picture that, no father would punish his son through a torture curse. This utopia wasn´t real and even if it could be achieved it wouldn´t last, couldn´t last, because Humans were not designed for harmony and Love. Humans and Men were creatures of progress, habit, greed and achievement.

The time of hiding in earth holes because the animals and beasts were stronger have long since passed, after all. But in such a perfect world a father would never hurt his child, not even as punishment instead he would question his behaviour and analyse their feelings to ensure that the harmony was never disrupted. His son returning reminded him that he loved this particular young man for a reason.

That he cared, deeply, for a very good reason. “I did something that would have ruined all our progress, destroyed all our plans and put everything on hold while risking both our lives and rank. The fact that I mended the issue before it became one does not gloss over the fact that I have made mistakes, several. If I had kept a tighter leash on my personality and emotions those corrections wouldn´t have been necessary in the first place!”

Daemons soft-spoken words reverberated through the library and Tom put his book away once again his attention on his son.  “I am a sadist. But this isn´t about inflicting pain, father. I have made several costly mistakes. I have failed you, myself and Lady Magic above all else. We cannot afford to fail. I am yours by Magic, Soul and Blood and I have failed you, father. For that I deserve punishment!” It was the whole truth.

As his Heir, the Heir to the Lord of Darkness his son had failed even though they could not afford to do so. This was a matter of pride and knowing his place. He had been gifted with a power surge even though he had failed as the one that would take over after he decided to step down. The title and rank his Angel held meant that he had to follow received orders, receive punishment with the ease and grace he should possess as well as dish out punishments and give orders. Angel represented him. Failure of his son would be seen as a failure of him and thus their plans and cause.

His son never repeated a mistake twice and the punishment would ensure that this fact remained just that. Drawing his wand he met his sons jade green eyes and softly spoke the incarnation. He could not refuse an argument based and logic and the rules they lived by, even if he wanted to.

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Slowly the Dementor backed away and out of the compartment and while the badly shaking kids, a Weasley and a girl with bushy hair, probably muggleborn did not notice it, he did. He did notice the cold air around the only teen still standing upright, the calm demeanour and his cold, cold eyes as he simply stared the Dementor in the eye without flinching or so much as a small tremor. Remus Lupin watched as the young, dangerous man turned into a good, slightly damaged child.

Harry Potter carefully removed a bar of chocolate from his pocket and crouched down with a hint of worry in his suddenly pale face. “Harry?” “Yeah, here guys, eat it!” Both children took the pieces of the bar and began to eat, not even realizing that they were basically following an order. Remus blinked several times, shaking his head as he looked at the gentle young child kneeling between his friends looking shaken and worried.

Had he gone mad? Had the Dementor caused him to see something that wasn´t there? Because he could have sworn, that this boy wasn´t Light or good; but cold, dangerous and Alpha. Maybe watching his best friend’s son, his cub would be a better idea than he had previously thought. The boy couldn´t be both, after all, now could he?

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Sitting at his desk in his office Remus stared blankly at the essay in front of him. Something was very wrong with his cub, something was off. When Sirius attacked the tower the child had been as calm as rain, even though his face and eyes had been filled with fear he did not smell like it. All his colleagues and former teachers were saying the same about Harry; he was a silent and barely mediocre student with the exception of Defence.

He was a withdrawn child with the exception of Ron and Hermione, was quick to anger if one pushed certain buttons and usually rather meek but prone to rash actions and rule breaking. Mediocre, shy but otherwise a typical Gryffindor and still a disappointment if one considered his parentage. Why then could he see the sheer boredom in those emerald orbs when he sat through class?

But because he could not specify it and his wolf senses would have no use or power if it came to convincing others he had kept his suspicions to himself, at least for the first half of the year. Now that he had bowed to Albus wish he hoped that those extracurricular lessons would finally give him the missing pieces. He was hoping that he could finally solve the puzzle named Harry James Potter.

“Good evening, professor!” Smiling at his best friend´s son and student he watched as the teen seemed to relax at his smile even though he remained alert. Without the wolf he carried inside him those changes, subtle as they were, would have been missed by him and anyone else was definitely missing them. The faked relaxation, hopeful and shy expression, while his underlying emotion and smell were that of boredom and a hint of amusement.

The amusement briefly entered those beautiful emerald orbs as if he hadn´t been hiding his own emotions of worry, irritation, suspicion and a hint of fear well enough. Maybe he should just do it the Gryffindor way and call the thirteen year old out? “You are not right!” Even to him this sounded ridiculous and he saw a smirk flicker over the teens face, his eyes filled with hidden laughter that wasn´t a nice kind of laughter.

It caused him to shiver even though the smirk and look were replaced smoothly by hurt and irritation, the face draining of colour as Harrys posture changed to alert but slouched.

“I am not right, professor?” Even his voice sounded like a puppy that had been kicked too often. But there was nothing else coming off the teen, no smell and nothing else but the mask he had chosen. “I cannot put a finger on it, but something is wrong with you. At times I could swear that you are two different people!” There was another smirk and flicker of amusement but the mask was in place soon enough, eyes dimming in anger.

“How can I act like two different people?” that was Harry Potter declaring him insane and that he could no longer be trusted. A perfectly normal and Gryffindor reaction. “To perfect..”, saying so he watched as the teen frowned, posture remaining the same while he began to smell like utter amusement. The act, however changed as the boy seemed to blush under a twisted praise. “I am not perfect, professor. I am not Hermione, after all!” “I was friends with your father and mother, you act like neither!”

Hurt and deep sadness were the visible response but all he could smell was amusement, cold amusement. He reacted on instinct as the teen stood up to leave, reaching for him and pressing him against the wall. “Who are you?” “Lupin, I brought your.. what are you doing?”

Startled he let go of the teen, refusing to allow himself to feel the guilt of having caused those bruises around the teen´s neck. He had felt the change before it turned visible. For just the blink of an eye he had ceased to be the most dangerous creature in his office.

Severus had probably saved him, judging by the cold look and cruel smirk on the no longer pale face. Harry was already back playing his game, holding his neck and glaring at both of his teachers before he stormed from his office, only after his eyes noted the potion in Severus hand and the implications of it.

But when he met the dark eyes of Severus he knew that he wasn´t the only one aware of the reality underneath the act. He wasn´t the only one that knew of his cub´s wrongness and he, like Severus, were not going to report any of it. They couldn´t report it as there was no logical explanation, nothing that would be believed from the others as the teen was fooling everyone, with ease, and they were a werewolf and a reformed Death Eater.

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Severus Snape watched in amazement as Harry Potter calmly began to chant with a knocked out Sirius Black and Remus Lupin lying at his feet as every Dementor native to Britain waited patiently for the teen to finish. Slowly, very slowly, a Copycat rose from the shore of the lake and walked towards it´s master, receiving the wand and something else before the real figure stepped away. Nodding at the Dark creatures with a cold, cruel smirk he turned and left dropping one glamour after the other.

The Copycat had already moved to lay down as the Dementors sucked out Sirius and Remus soul, the pain of the act causing them to regain concussion, their screams filling the air. “You are bothersome, Severus!”

The voice came from his left, it was deep and husky and he turned in time to see the final glamour´s on the young man´s height, face, eyes and hair fall. It was then that his mind went blank and when he came to he turned, sending his patronus to alert Albus of the three people under attack.

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Albus Dumbledore stood in his office feeling shocked and surprised for the first time in over 40 years. A bone chilling kind of shock, because, his child of prophecy Harry Potter was dead. Only Voldemort should have been able to achieve that. Arranging those tests had not been out of fear but sheer pretence of caring for the child. According to the prophecy only the Dark Lord could kill the child, if this wasn´t what the prophecy meant then it was his meddling that led to the child´s early demise.

It was too soon, his Saviour could not be allowed to die. Could he have overlooked something this damaging to his plans because of his own arrogance? Divination, while a naturally neutral branch of Magic had always produced Seers of the Light, they were the Light Lords secret weapon, after all. While others would be able to guess and ultimately discover their meaning after the prophecy was fulfilled the Light Lord always knew instantly how to decipher them and use them in their favour.

Had he misread something? He knew, on a certain level, that he was a Human being and thus prone to mistakes, which was why he had hidden both children and ensured that both sets of parents used borderline Dark magic to protect their baby’s. Despite the things he was preaching and teaching for over 70 years now there was no difference between Light and Dark. They were each one side of the same coin and both were naturally cruel and deadly. They were equally evil.

His own hatred of dark magic was borne out of the realisation that Dark wizards only sacrificed others, while Light wizards had to sacrifice pieces of themselves. Dark Magicians could make the sacrifices by using others; he could only do that indirectly as the Light tended to take the sacrifice directly from its wielder. The wielders memory, the loved ones, the ability to feel hatred and much more important and often: the wielders sight, age, agility and his amount of power.

Pure Light was as addicting as Pure Dark but because the Light was noble and caring in nature and the Dark was cold and cruel in nature their abilities and methods were different.

But because he was not willing to give anything else all of his powerful curses and rituals took a predetermined amount of his life force and time on earth. No other wizard looked as old as he did at the tender age of 120 years; none of them had white hair and wrinkles in the face. But it was hardly surprising considering the fact that no Light Lord survived his 300th birthday. It was after he had realised this, that he had begun to dance the line, that he begun to stretch the rules and laws of Lady Magic and occasionally breaking them to ensure his survival. But survival alone wasn´t his motivation, no he wished to live longer than all of those Lords of the Light before him, he wanted the Light to win, to obliterate the Darkness.

But because of this hatred and all the years of planning and losing his way he forgot the most important law. Both sides had to be in balance, period. In his quest to surpass every Light Lord before him and trick the Lady for taking his beloved Ariana and Gellert from him (never mind the fact that it was entirely his fault that both were no longer roaming the world as the knowledge why his brother looked at him with such contempt, had long since slipped his mind).

Adjusting the rules and Laws to suit his need had led to him no longer seeking balance but revenge. A purpose much more sinister than “The Greater Good” was what he wished to achieve at all cost and with less costly payments from him. The phoenix watching knew all of this and if he could he would have shuddered at the maniacal gleam and grin entering Albus eyes and face.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX **FAWKS POV** XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sometimes Fawkes wished that Lady magic would break her own rules and interfere now, instead of placing all of her hopes onto the Lord of Darkness and keeping watch from the side-lines. Lady Earth created all of the live on her world, Lady Magic picked those she found most suitable, Lady Fate dealt all of them, mundane or magical, beast or creature alike, their hand and Lady Luck helped them “deal” with it all (some more and others less but she did spread Luck around). And then “the End” swooped down and removed them once their time has come or one of the Lady´s decided that you had overstayed you welcome.

None of them were good, kind or cruel. They just were and had the human habit of having or choosing favourites. If was to ignore those facts, or had trouble comprehending them there was one argument no one could refute. Those Lady´s simply were, always had been and they all had to pull on the same strings while following their own agenda.

Magic had discussed her idea of the rules and how she wished to establish them in detail with all others while Luck found creating Cards usually called “joker” in any human card game to be funny enough to establish as a valid system which she did inform her colleagues about. Fate, however, established another system by writing several developments down and discussing with her colleagues which tests could be used to determine Earth´s subjects further way. Giving each new-born three little black books, the three main roads with what they have been “dealt” with and the hereditary traits given to them.

Luck and Fate left it to the beings to choose and pick, the one watching which book they read, the other watching how they played their cards and rarely interfered, especially if those they watched weren´t any of those they favoured most. If they saw the need to act it was to bring in another book, force their Champion to read the one discarded or in Luck´s case, playing their cards for them and adding one or two if needed.

The Mundanes used a saying “a case of bad luck” without comprehending just how close to the truth they were. While earth and Magic were creatures of balance and Neutrality, fate and Luck were the ones to keep the balance within the realm of those Entities. There was no Light without the Dark and vice versa.

If there were only Magic and Earth the whole system would be useless because the balance was what kept Earth and Magic alive. If one side was about to win, or were to win.. well Earth and Magic had long since realised that forging an alliance was to their favour. Should the worst happen Magic would act and destroy those that endangered them both **.**

Fate was cruel and cold, dark in nature, which was hardly surprising if one thought about it, one only needed to look at his/ her own “lot in life” or that of other people. Luck, however, was naturally Light and while she usually gave those of her Affinity three or four jokers she tended to give those she favoured more, much more if necessary.

Of course, those “Champions” of her tended to be of Light Affinity, but even she could change her mind or favour others just because she liked them more. Now, that Luck sided with the son of the Lord of the Dark (or rather the Lord of Dark once his father stepped down) the balance could finally be reinstated. Why Lady Luck sided with the nearly 21 year old was anyone’s guess especially as it was the first time in history that she broke her own tradition.

Returning to reality finally done with his musings, the phoenix thrilled in annoyance as he found the current headmaster activating his second set of plans. Poor little Neville would break faster and much easier than any other so called Champion. Humans could only take so much, after all, without anything to look forward to. They (humans) usually tended to walk two paths at the same time. It was a safeguard way of living, ensuring that their always was a path to walk, regardless of how little reward and motivation the first one brought.

And then there were those roads humans could take that weren´t part of the three books, it were the paths to insanity or the turn around of their own personality and goals. The first and the second path led to self-destruction, loss of a self. The second path was ultimately worse than the first as they, upon reaching their final breaking point, would have lost all personality and thus the possibility of gaining strength.

Either a weapon or a ticking time bomb, they would either destroy what they were supposed to, measuring themselves through the expectations of their “handler” only to then turn against the same or ending in suicide.  The first was nothing less than Stockholm syndrome with a reminder of Fate´s cruelty and Lucks “bad” side. This road usually led to a brutal but equally beautiful firework no mortal could possibly stop or prevent.

It was depressing, watching humans forget that they weren´t meant to lose all the time, lose or find their loved ones much too late, that they were entitled to their emotions and that they were not meant to pass heavenly or other kind of tests regularly. They weren´t meant to remain strong and unchanged while another individual made their choices for them, forced them into “proper behaviour”.

Humans had their own special design allowing them to make their own path, their own decisions. Yes, everyone and their kneazle had masters they had to answer to (money, Love, Compassion, to name a few) but they had the ability to choose those masters and gain enough knowledge to be aware of their limitations, powers and faults.

Thrilling one more time he glared at the nearly empty office and decided to sped up his circle by bursting into flames- Dumbledore had needed him rarely before the boy acting as Harry Potter came to school and the summer break had just begun. The old man could go and hang himself for all he carcared, he was too damn old for this job anyway.

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Hermione Jane Granger sat in the taxi with her parents, allowing New York to rush by without really seeing the city and it´s wonders. Dementors had removed her best friend´s soul, and while the body had outlived this cruel act, it couldn´t survive without a soul and passed away a week later. Due to this she had a hard time seeing and comprehending they had already landed in America and were already under way, as she balled her hands into fists.

Incident, the Ministry had the gall to call nearly 100 Dementors swarming one of the same children they had been there to protect and sucking out his soul as an Incident. Fudge had of course been sacked but it did not lessen the pain she felt. Harry had never been “right”, she had noticed it even though she had terrible people skills, or maybe because she easily spotted those that were pretending.

It took one to know one, after all. Her friend had taught her many things, shown her several others and she knew that he had orchestrated all the moments where her deep believe in herself concerning her knowledge was shattered to teeny tiny pieces. She had known that he had done it to show her, her place. To remove her illusions.

The memory as he touched her cheek was still sending shivers down her spine. She was probably the only one that had felt his power and could still recall the moments. His soft hand, that should not feel soft, had caressed her cheek, her body pressed to the wall and a deep husky voice, not fitting with the boy in front of her, had spoken mockingly. “Such arrogance, such a power behind Illusions of rightful indignation, so much determination. Such a waste of talent through inappropriate heritage, wrong believes and false bravery!”

He had kissed her after that and the lips she felt and took her breath away weren´t the ones everyone could see, either. Then he had moved away amusement and something much more sinister in his eyes. “It is a shame that it is them that will hold you down and break your spirit, because as a mudblood there is nowhere else to go, after all!” For merely two Minuit’s she had seen the beautiful cold creature underneath dozens of glamour’s.

Her lips had been aflame over ten Minuit’s after the kiss, burning from the taste of cold power and the intensity of the kiss. “If you were just trying to reach your potential and see the world for what it is… but for you it would be better to leave, especially if you keep behaving this abhorrent and unbecoming. Something you cannot afford if one considers your rank..”

He had trailed off, smirking at her as if the idea itself was a joke of unknown proportions before he turned and walked away, leaving her breathless, burning and her eyes filled with tears as his words sunk in and her body began to tremble, fear not the most prominent reason for this reaction.

Since then she had discovered just how much power such glamour´s needed as it withstood curses and spells, all of them designed to break them. There had been moments where she thought that her outdated and crazy spells worked but even if they did the glamour returned after five seconds as if there were layers upon layers of glamour’s around the Boy wonder.

Now that “Harry” was gone she had begun to use her greatest source of pride, her mind, to understand just what this man had meant with all of what he said and all the possibilities offered by it. She had learned to see how true his words were. Hermione had begun to be brutally honest to herself, without the knowledge that glamour’s ceased to work when their caster died she would have been unable to move at all.

For all intends and purposes “Harry” should have changed into the man she had glimpsed several times upon his death. The lack of change was the one thing that kept her upright because it meant that the cruel, cold, hard man with more power than she could ever hope to gain was not dead.

Harry Potter had been an act, a mask that hid the monster she had been allowed to glimpse underneath. There was no doubting this part, those glimpses had been deliberate as those times he had succeeded in bringing her down a peg or two. Without his allowing her to see she would have simply shrugged at Harry´s behaviour and gone along with it as he was her odd, shy Saviour.

Maybe she would have even begun to mother him and impress her knowledge into or rather onto him. The second noteworthy encounter that had caused her body to react the same way had been mere moments before they entered the secret passage to follow the shaggy dog.  “Stupid mudblood. How is it intelligent or brave to follow the mad dog that broke your friend´s foot? I expected better of you despite your rank, heritage and the fact that you are bound by Light, little bird!” This time he had not kissed her and lifted the glamour a little longer before he had turned with one last cold and judging look only to then fall back into his act.

Bound by Light. Referring to “mudblood” as rank. Little bird. Arrogant, stupid. All of those words, all of those meanings behind meanings were referring to her, and her alone. Those were his views of one Hermione Jane Granger and she couldn´t shake the feeling that she had failed some kind of test.

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It was nearly three hours later that she left the box her parents had booked for them, trembling and shaking. The wonderful placed box they had booked in one of the most famous opera houses in the world had suddenly felt like a cage with moving walls. Her chest was filled with pain and she had trouble breathing.

 _*In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me and speaks my name..*_ The whole encounter of Christine meeting her teacher, the Phantom for the first time had caused her to feel something fall from her eyes and it did lead to her current state. A connection, being drawn to Darkness.

 _*In all your fantasies, you always knew, that man and mystery, Were both in you!*_ Hugging herself she slowly sunk down the wall in the main entrance, thankfully hidden from most stray guests. Christine was a good, naïve young girl that never really belonged. Filled with spirit, fire and full of life with no way to act on either, having been given a gift by Magic or Earth and suddenly facing the cage of expectations and consequences. They were alike in all those things.

They had broken her, let her fall and threw her in the cold water expecting her to learn to swim and she had felt caged all her live, fearing her own shadows, her Darkness only to fall in love with it deeper. Then she had run because it wasn´t “normal” to love the Dark, had run because it was cruel and cold and couldn´t honestly care for her the way she wished to be cared for.

Saved by peer pressure and the opinion of a certain amount of people? Free? Or would she have been truly free if she had allowed herself to fall? Would she have lived longer if she had followed her truth and heart´s desire? She had spent her live running from the truth! She knew now that muggelborns held the lowest rank, barely above a squib and a slave, but all this new things in this new world had been more than enough to ignore the signs.

Instead she used up her mental and emotional energy to forget all about this clues and the occasional direct approaches. And then her own Phantom came along to crush all her carefully built Illusions and dragged all her secret, locked mental boxes in the middle of her mind. He had caused her body to react several times and each time her magic had spiked, causing her to feel this interest in him deepen.

When she was younger she had seen a report of a father that had abused his children for years and finally been caught and brought to justice she had gone and asked the most important question. Her own father, Daniel Granger, had answered it, but the answer clashed with her firm believes of being good and proper, had been what she did not want to hear or accept- it was one of the first things landing in the secret trunk.

Faced with his daughter asking him why anyone would do such a thing the former soldier had calmly sat down and softly explained that Light could never exist without Dark and vice versa, that everyone had both in them and that it was a choice one made. But, in her mind and world sharpened by her mother, all those books filled with romance and the cruelty of her school colleagues, it wasn´t supposed to be a choice. There were no grey areas, nothing between Good and Bad.

Those that were bad shouldn´t feel good, because they were bad! They shouldn´t like being bad but try their utmost to be good. Then, months later all the bad things happening because of her, books that flew to her and such things had been given a name.

Suddenly there was a gift she had instead of being a freak of nature. Entering the magical world, however, had shaken her world once more and she went to her father, having successfully ignored the last time he had answered one of her important questions. And once again his answer had sent her running.

“There is Dark and Light, pumpkin, but Humans do not do things simply Black or white. The Dark does not have to be Evil and unable to care for someone and the Light does not have to be purely good. We are, as a race, prone to mistakes and usually walk the thin line between both sides; some of us change from one to the other several times. It´s all a rather shadowy Realm with us Humans!”

This conversation had happened through Christmas in her first year and she had still continued to run even though she had seen the hurt in Daniels eyes, seeing the haunted look as he had given his answer that told her that he had learned those things the hard way, only now that the scene played out in her mind again. Now she could no longer pretend that it had never happened, she hadn´t been able to pretend since “Harry´s” dead.

All his words had driven her into a research frenzy that had given her answers she had not been able to gain by simply watching and listening too fixated on her believes. But she had still refused to confront it all, how ironic that a muggle opera would finally force her to accept it all. _“To guard you and to guide you”_ what was Raoul had sung as Christine ran away, choosing him because he was the choice a good girl would make. To Guard and to Guide. Not Love, support or protect, but guard and Guide. A soft sob escaped her lips as she hugged her knees now that she finally saw that it would be of no use to cling to those romance novels and fairy tales she had read.

The musical was still in full force as her world and believes rearranged themselves, tears streaming down her face, her body still shaking. And then she felt it, the one aura she had been allowed to feel, the one magical power she had felt drawn to. Looking up her eyes found him easily enough.

 

Aristocratic face, shoulder long obsidian black hair held back by a silver clasp, full red lips, athletic built and elegant suit that hugged his figure, jade green eyes alight with amusement. He was moving with the confidence and grace of someone aware that every pair of eyes was directed at him while preparing to go hunting.

 

_# Let your soul take you where you long to be, only then can you belong to me! Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me savour each sensation. Let the dream begin, let the darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write!#_

and   _#You will despise the day you did not do, all that the Phantom asked for you#_

 

He calmly walked to the bar ordering something and paying for it before he turned, someone would bring the order to his box. Would he destroy her for having been blind and failing the test? Kill her, even though she was no longer able to return to blindness? Blissful ignorance was no longer an option left to her. Acting on instinct and autopilot Hermione got up and stepped forward.

 

It was hardly surprising that the predator he was noted the movement of someone familiar and that he turned just to find her as easily as she had found him.

It wasn´t one of her better moments as her eyes were bloodshot, her body was still shaking and her makeup was gone through all of her tears that were still flowing. The only good thing was her lime green cocktail dress, fitting jewellery and shoes and the fact that she was slowly hitting puberty.

With him everyone else had turned to see what had drawn the handsome young man´s attention and he was already moving as her mind comprehended the fact that she was the second most interesting person because of that. A soft hand grabbed her and gently guided her towards the hallway where the washrooms were located, removing the tear trails with an elegant motion of his charmed handkerchief.

A perfect gentleman helping a distraught little 13 year old girl. ”Hermione!”, his voice was husky but without an emotion as he guided her to the one bench where only a few people would be able to see them or watch them. Finally, away from prying eyes he helped her to sit down and reapplied her make up with a simple flick of his hidden wand. “I knew that you were not death..” Well, it was a start even though her voice sounded raw from sobbing and her eyes felt funny from all the crying.

Jade eyes filled with amusement as he met her eyes, smiling a cold, dangerous smile. “Ah, but Harry Potter is dead, little bird!” Rearranging her hair with another flick of his wand he got up from his crouched position, the smile changing into something that said “good-bye”. Before she could say or do something a handsome, older men turned around the corner and spotted them. “There you are, Daemon!”

Nodding at her once her personal phantom went towards the man waiting leaving her to regain her composure and get back into the box to get to see the last few moments of the opera.      

**_Night time: sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination! Silently the senses abandon their defences. Slowly, gently Night uncurls it´s splendour grasp it, sense it: tremulous and tender! Turn your face away from the garish Light of day, turn your thoughts away from the cold, unfeeling Light and listen to the Music of the Night!_ **

**_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts from the life you knew before! Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar and you´ll live as you´ve never lived before!_ **

**_Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this Darkness you know you cannot fight- The Darkness of the Music of the Night!_ **

****

**_(The Phantom of the Opera, Music of the Night by Sir Andrew L. Webber)_ **

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“Is something wrong, pumpkin? You looked rather distraught when you left the box!” Her father´s voice was filled with worry as he gently put the chair beneath her and sat down on the other side of their table at the five star restaurant not far from the theatre. Emma, her mother, had begged off because she felt unwell which translated to her wishing to get away from her daughter as she behaved inappropriate and got emotional which would usually lead to her daughter asking things.

“You told me that there was no Dark without Light, that Darkness wasn´t the same as Evil and that our actions and reactions usually happen in shades of grey.” “That I did, why does it bother you so much?” Her answer was halted by Daemon entering the restaurant, her senses zeroing in onto the young man.

Next to him stood a regal looking man with brownish eyes and stepped black hair. They were accompanied by two pairs that seemed to be important, foreign and rich and they looked like cat´s that caught the canary as they followed their hosts to one of the private rooms the restaurant offered.

“Pumpkin?” Looking back at her worried father she tried come up with a good start for all her thoughts. “I never told you the truth about Harry. He saved my live because he was acting out the part of a hero. Then he ensured that I fell from my horse and my Illusions broke. I know he was pretending, I know that he orchestrated all those moments and I still have not been able to fully figure him out!”

Looking up into Daniel Grangers face she knew that he understood, understood why she had needed to be brought down a few pegs before she could even begin to accept his words. Taking a deep breath, she began to explain in detail, mentioning several major moments and the fact that she had been allowed to glimpse the one behind the act. “He told me that I was caged by Light.. and I haven´t realised what it meant, not until they brought back a look alike and no one seemed to care. They even called the death of their “Hero” an Incident” “I am but a mere muggle, but maybe talking to him would solve some of your problems?”

“He would not talk to me, dad. I have failed his test and I am a risk he took. Should I go to him..”, she trailed off unable to explain what such an action would translate to in Daemons world. Daniel Granger wouldn´t understand it even if she knew enough to explain it all properly, which left her with the one thing she could say to explain. “I am Christine, dad. I left because I only figured it out because of the musical!”

For the first time in her live she was flooded by love and gratitude for her witty, oddly realistic, open minded father that was willing to listen to all of her little and big issues even though she had turned on him twice. “Why are you informing me of that now?” “Because he was at the theatre and took me aside after I reacted on autopilot because I felt and saw him, he then helped me clean my face and order my hair before he went away. And he is here now, in one of the business rooms!” Her father frowned and they began to eat in silence, both deep in thought.

After their main course, Dan´s attention returned to his daughter, his beautiful little girl that was book smart but had managed to block her intelligence by all those walls of firm believe in things that weren´t realistic. His little girl’s eyes were fixated on a beautiful young man much older than herself who was currently seeing his guests off.

The regal man beside the young, probably twenty year old left with them, leaving the one his daughter was fascinated with behind. The young aristocrat watched his guests leave, assessing their body language and preparing to leave after them; apparently, he had done his part of the deal and would now return to the hotel he stayed in. He was up and moving before his brain comprehended his intent.

They could settle this whole thing this very moment. “Might I ask for a favour?” Jade green eyes met his, assessing him and he felt like someone had just dropped ice water over him. Those eyes and the one they belonged to seemed to look right into his soul to assess him and pass judgement of his worth. Suddenly he found himself understanding a little bit better what Hermione had meant but his senses were screaming danger at him and he felt unsure of his previous idea. He´d much rather take his daughter and get her as far away from this man as humanly possible.

“A favour?” The husky voice was cold as ice, the stare getting much colder and pervasive. “My daughter.. I believe you should speak with her!” Having been in a war fighting at the front had honed his senses and the fact that his very being was screaming at him to run was very bad, indeed. He probably should not have talked about Darkness being not the same as Evil and all of that.

Those the icy orbs moving to his daughter without any kind of hesitation sent shivers down his spine. “A talk will not settle anything. But it might amuse me to grant you the favour as I am free for the night anyway!” With that he turned away to talk with the waiter. Only then did Daniel notice that he had not used any respectful or polite tone towards him and that he had not even looked at him as he spoke. Startled, surprised and fighting his instincts he went to fetch his daughter. Hermione needed this talk, needed his chance.

Moments later a waiter led them through the restaurant because the room Daemon had been using before had been taken by someone else. Their host however had simply taken another room that happened to be free. It was held in cream and lilac with a longish table set for three. Helping his daughter in the chair he noted her pale complexion and trembling and wondered if they should simply leave now, when their host entered.

The young man had used the time to change into a silk shirt that hugged his upper body and had removed the jacket entirely. While he did try to be a perfect host the young man drew his wand, cast several things and while the wand never pointed at either of them it did not settle his nerves. The young men was dangerous enough, holding his weapon while he was here with his daughter and no way to fight against magic was much more nerve wracking than running through a minefield while the enemy shot at you- there at least it would end fast and one could defend oneself.

“I have granted you the favour, do start this talk!” Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin at that but his daughter sat up straighter, despite her shaking body. “I feel drawn to you and don´t even know who you are!” Their host met his daughter´s eyes, dismissing Daniel as any kind of threat to him and he titled his head slightly. “I am Daemon Alexis Slytherin-Riddle, son of Lord Slytherin!”

Hermione’s posture changed again as he had finished, this time to something elegant but submissive as this information had told her more than he could comprehend without an explanation. “To explain who opened the Chamber would require a whole night and you should not concern yourself with too much background anyway!” The insult caused him to feel the urge of getting up and taking his girl with him, but said girl was changing her posture again nodding slowly after several moments, acknowledging the others point.

With a jolt he realized that neither of them were a threat to the young man. If he wished to he could simply hurt both him and his daughter. With all the wand waving he had done and all his influence no one would hear theirs screams or remember that they had been here in the first place. Now he could suddenly relate to those moments his daughter referred to as “glimpses”.

The waiter entered and he ordered a glass of wine feeling the need for alcohol. Their host ordered a bottle and his daughter remained suspiciously silent. Trying to breathe around his flight response he took the time to look at Hermione with great care. His daughter was using all those lessons of her mother about the behaviour of a Lady for the first time in her live.

She was using everything of those etiquette lessons and refusing to look at either of them which had several reasons. She knew more about the young man and his opinions than she had led him to believe, she did not wish to see his expression and because she was really very “drawn” to their young host. That said host had not ordered for him but for Hermione and not expected a reaction of the girl meant that he had done so to prove a point. That he was the one in control.

“What has distraught you so much you ran from the box and told your father about me?” “The musical. I am Christine..” Jade eyes lit up in apparent amusement but it was on the sinister side of things just like the cold smirk that tried to form on their hosts face. He should have definitely told his daughter that Dark was Evil and little girls should stay the hell away from it, even though he doubted that she would have been happy with this answer especially those past weeks.

“It is rather fascinating, for you to get a chance of choice on a trip I had planned to take no part in!” His daughter became rigid at that which only seemed to add to the others amusement and Dan was halfway out of his seat when invisible hands pressed him back into it and the waiter entered to give each of them the ordered drinks. This was going too far. She was thirteen. “Lady Luck seems to like me, then!” Hermione’s words caused him to forget about the fact that he could not move and that their host had already taken a sip of his wine.

The jade eyes darkened briefly at that and Hermione flinched back as if she had been hit. “It is Magic that interferes, but why she has done so for a mudblood that only recently discovered her brain and failed my test, I do not know. Neither will I question the Lady´s reasoning. She did choose you to be given the gift of magic and for this, at least, you are worthy!” Hermione began to tremble again and Dan noted that he felt an electrical shock each time he tried to speak.

“She can take it away as well, can´t she?” That stopped all of his tries as his young daughter, who was slowly developing in a brilliant, good looking young woman, met those cold darkened jade eyes with respect and devotion but too much interest to ignore this piece of information.

Jade eyes softened, a gently smile forming on the aristocratic face as soft wind began to blow through the room in combination with the sounds of a waterfall. Hermione’s eyes widened at that leaving her looking dazed as the power and wind drew away and around their host, engulfing him and gaining in warmth as the very real wind and breath taking power moved in answer to a silent question the sound of water turning to gentle birdsong and bells. Whatever this was, and Dan guessed at the mysterious Lady both had spoken of moments ago, it was neither Good nor Bad- had no intention of either caring or hurting but it definitely liked the young man sitting across from them.

The young man´s eyes changed from green to onyx black as the power around him tightened and the wind seemed to caress him, which was looking rather impressive in the “I am bad and have powerful allies” kind of way. The effect did not lessen when a beautiful necklace appeared out of nowhere landing on Daemons outstretched hand, the black eyes calmly assessing the piece of jewellery. Once he was done studying it the necklace vanished and the power moved enveloping Hermione but this time the wind was colder and there was no accompanying sound.

His little daughter’s eyes glazed over and she seemed to be communicating with the Entity of Magic. Finally, the cold breeze around his girl vanished leaving her shivering but highly alert. “Why does no one..” Their host shot her a look that caused her to trail off and look down.

“Why no one teaches this? Because the Light has bowed to the idea of having to bend and break our ways and traditions to make mudbloods more comfortable within our world. Too angry with having to attend Christmas balls and send their children on Easter breaks- traditions of a religion that burnt us on the stake not that long ago if one considers that we are a long living race. One couldn´t tell new blood and probably intelligent children that they were worth less than well trained slaves, after all. The few years it was done led to little Civil wars all over the world, after all.

Those with no respect for the truth of the Lady´s rules and Laws, no regard for the tradtitions and believes of a world they were allowed to enter because everyone with the gift of magic should be protected turning against it all. And the Light saw an opportunity to finally get rid of the balance. Why no one teaches how we became magical has another reason, of course, over time both sides lost their path and the old ways- which is how the hatred against a low rank has grown on the Dark side and how Dark Affinity was suddenly hated by the Light. Neither side felt the hatred because it was borne out of fear but because it had been passed down!”

His eyes were drifting to Dan and suddenly he could see the desire to play with him, hurt him, not because he was mundane but because he honestly liked to inflict pain and was slowly tiring of this little conversation.

“It would not do, after all, to keep a balance not many remembered the importance of while little mudbloods were feeling like they had to choose between two different worlds. Each side has their own way to celebrate, to thank and to pay for using more of Magic than they possess and over the past several hundred years the traditions of the Dark were frowned upon and then forbidden by governmental law while the Light threw theirs away. Now they have banned entire branches of magic unable to comprehend and remember that the Lady gifts us with magic that has a “feel” to it.

We get the Affinity from the start, after all, as it is part of the gift. To aid the balance. By refusing to bow to a Light-made government we kept doing what we wished to do and placed our own little tests to ensure that at least the RANK System would not vanish. And still everyone, even some of us, believe mudblood to be an insult, when it is a real rank in a real Hierarchy instead!”

“Without this chance for you, little bird, I would have watched you and removed you from the face of Earth the very second you neared your final breaking point. Now, with the Lady orchestrating a chance, however, this is no longer an option!” Daniel flinched at that and his daughter smiled a smile that told him many things which were only adding to his fear, confusion and restlessness. It was about accepting fate and being aware of the remaining options. “What are my options now, Lord Riddle?” The question was for his sake, he knew and that seemed to amuse their host, the danger still there but suddenly kept at bay.

“Run, run back to Ronnikins and Dumbledore, embrace the Light with no memory of this evening, sudden bursts of realisations, feelings concerning the musical or this meeting!” It was said in a tone of voice that suggested that he was counting on his little girl doing just that and Hermione flinched because of it. “Or you come with me, little bird!” “To belong to you.” It wasn´t a question and Daniel felt his heart skip a beat or two.

Daniel felt the power keeping him on the chair lessen. He should have known it was a bad sign as their host had changed his posture and was watching his daughter intently and with sudden interest. “Would I be allowed to visit my parents?” Allowed. A calm, collected question and he felt hot pain curse through his body because of it. “Allowing you to visit muggles?”

Soft brown eyes closed briefly at the sarcasm before his pumpkin looked at the young Lord again. “How much time do I have?” It was then that she looked down again, refusing to look at Dan like she had done for the past hour since they had entered. “I will not allow you to leave this room without having made your choice!”

Even Dan heard the unspoken but clear “Which you have known before bothering to ask!” as clear as he had heard everything else. “Where would I go to school?” “Salem Academy, which is my Alma Mata.” Daniel knew he technically would be able to move but he found himself unable to do so, shock coursing through his body as he looked at his daughter sitting upright, shoulders back, hands clasped in her lap, feet closed and held sideways. She wasn´t worrying her lower lip or moving in any way but he still could see her milling it over. “Would I change?”

“In looks and blood and heritage! But this option does not change your spirit and soul!” Their host smirked cruelly and his daughter met those cold eyes. “It has not been spoken aloud, Daemon. It is not an option I would be allowed to choose, after all!” Daemons eyes darkened and his daughter paled, trembling and bowing her head while Dan milled over the hidden meaning of this little interaction. Suddenly “removing you” got several more possible meanings than “killing you” and some other things struck him as odd as well.

“Pumpkin.. Did you expect to get removed from education?” It was the only other part he could bring some sense into. Hermione looked at him then, for the first time since he had taken her to this meeting, her brown eyes filled with several emotions, one of them acceptance and slight irritation. She hadn´t refused to look at him but chosen to ignore his presence in order to focus on Daemon.

“Belonging to a powerful, high ranking Dark wizard is like one of the matches of old between princesses and Kings given away out of gaining political power. Basically, what mother expects of a young Lady but with tripled expectations and duties. It removes my ability to choose. Educations, Field of Work, hobbies I purse are ultimately my Lords choices. The pull I feel means that I will feel it all my life and that I might learn to love my Lord should I choose to take this path!” Feeling like his daughter was holding back some information he looked at their host and back at his little girl. “You have to say it out loud, pumpkin!”

                      


	5. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder that I am just toying and screwing with a world and Characters that rightfully belong to Joanne K. Rowling

They both needed to hear it out loud. “I am offered to choose. Coming along is a choice that can mean three things and only one of them requires my desire to belong and willingness. Should I choose the second option it is my Lords decision if I am merely a slave or a pet. The third option would give me the highest possible rank as I then would become his Consort. The different ranks come with certain restrictions and requirements.

None of them includes freedom of choice. A consort is the only one allowed to express desires and wishes. I will be viewed as my Lords slave, pet or Consort and my actions, reactions and general behaviour will reflect onto the one I belong to- their Master, Holder or Lord..”, trailing off she looked at Daemon not noticing her father´s increasing state of shock.

“Lord as I am the Heir of the Lord of Darkness. Others might refer to me as your Master but this term does not reflect my real rank. Holder would be the one that bought a slave and most pet´s and slaves use “owner”, at least within their mind or rooms!”

Turning towards their host to nod in thanks she faced her father again. “There are several ways to determine the rank, but they all come with a marking or branding of some kind. That´s all I could figure out, after finding and owl ordering nearly fifty books!” It was added in a way of answer to Daemons raised eyebrow and their host smirked briefly at both of them.

“Well, those are a handful of the basic facts. Ways to bind someone would be: Potions meant to control are usually bound to emotions and usage of them without consent is a punishable offence. They would remove the victims free will and ability of reason. Certain spells, a few of them are taught to children and none of them are seen as dangerous or evil even though they basically achieve the same. Neither of those options is stating a Real Claim for as long as the “victim” lives.

Which is why such things are traditionally done through one of the rituals fashioned for this kind of claim. If the to be bound is actively against the binding or has not given consent they tend to lose every ability of forming own opinions and comprehension of their feelings. Those claims remove every legal right from the “to be bound”.

Unsurprisingly only a handful of those special set of rituals are considered Light! Those that require the chosen to submit of their own free will, belong to another set of rituals entirely and most of them are Dark and banned. The ranks differ in expectations, limitations and it is the dominant that determines what remains of the person and how tight their leash is held, additionally to the aforementioned expectations for someone holding one of those ranks. Either of them are above the one you currently have!”

Jade eyes met his, a cold smirk on the young man´s face. “The Owner does have the final say about everything including living arrangements, clothing and meals as well as the schooling and training. It means that if a pet, slave or Consort is not trained “properly” or in this case according to tradition, acts of inappropriate behaviour in public will be noted and reported. Thus, the behaviour will be noted and reflected back onto the Owner!” “Is there a way to break such a ritualistic bond?”

Daniel had no time to react as his daughter jumped up pale and shaking, his chair exploded beneath him and he was thrown across the room, crashing against the wall. He needed several moments to regain enough of his wits and balance to get up only to find his daughter standing between himself and their host, head bowed. “Please, he did not know..” that she stood in the deathly calm young man´s path caused her to shake and she had lost any and all colour in her face.

She did look like a person aware of the power and danger and unable to step in or prevent something from happening. Her standing where she stood had been an automatic response and not based on logic thinking. “Dad, apologise to our host who has granted you a favour and paid our bill. Apologise for implying that he is unable to hold a girl which has willingly given away her freedom!” Shit.

That his little girl´s voice was far away from the calm she had managed to uphold through the past two hours or less was one of the reasons he looked to find bloodlust written in those jade orbs. Apparently, he was now seeking another kind of amusement and it was his fault for provoking it.

He had no chance against a Magician, not even if he could risk trying to attack with his daughter in the way. The prospect of losing her forever, without her going along willingly, caused him to do what his daughter had suggested none to gently, even though he felt the urge to scream and attack. “I apologise, I did not mean to imply something like that!”

Dan felt sick just doing it but if it prevented him from feeling more pain and decreased the amount of danger his daughter was in he could live with it. “Move, little bird!” He watched shocked and amazed as his daughter curtsied and followed the order. She had chosen to follow the order even though Daemon could have easily removed her from his path or walked around her. His eyes were soon drawn to the dangerous man stopping mere inches away from him, eyes obsidian black and a cruel smirk on his lips.

Invisible hands dragged him upwards, twisting his joints painfully as little cuts appeared all over his body, causing him to gasp in pain. His daughter stood where she had been left to stand, her eyes soft and determined but feeling like he was burnt alive kept him from analysing this further. “You are useless and can´t lie to save you live. Watch your tongue or I will remove it. It is only because your idiocy has turned the tides that this is your last warning!”

With that the young man flicked his wand and turned as he landed on the floor still shaking from the pain, still bleeding and gasping. “What.. what does he mean, pumpkin?” That his daughter looked at the man that had just caused him pain and still had not healed him should have been a huge clue but his body was still hurting, trembling, breathing heavily while biting his lower lip to avoid the gasps of pain from escaping. It was bad enough that he had screamed once or twice.

“I have acknowledged Daemons claim, Dominance and Power over me by following the order, fully aware of the fact that he was prepared to kill you. Or rather he wished to torture you. I knew that and let him pass, Daddy!” Daemon smiled at him, his left hand gently caressing his daughters back.

“What your daughter has neglected to mention is that by submitting even though I was going to kill her father she has made her decision!” that his daughter looked at him without moving or trying to refute those words meant that it was indeed the truth especially as the other was still touching her and she did not even flinch or move away. Her eyes were filled with determination and unshed tears. Tears that were caused due to all of his injuries. He doubted there were any other possible reasons.

“I am sorry pumpkin!” Hermione´s eyes closed briefly and Daemon calmly began with her hair his eyes still black. “He seems to like pain enough to keep insulting me!” It was said like one would talk about the nice warm, sunny weather and his little girl bowed her head before she looked at him again, this time the tears were falling freely. “My submitting to our host has had nothing to do with the danger you were in. It wouldn´t have influenced the outcome, dad. I could not influence Daemon just by submitting; that he did not kill you was not an option that crossed my mind!”, she paused closing her eyes again as the other slowly caressed her body his power enfolding her as obsidian black orbs watched him with glee, apparently he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“A powerful, pureblood, young Lord does not change his mind on my account! I stepped away believing that he would kill, torture or at least hurt you badly for insulting him like you did, and that I would have to watch it. Submitting was not my way of trying to save your life, Dad! This decision had to be made willingly and not because I tried to protect someone! You keep dismissing the facts even though you have been attentive all the time. Do not insult me and my intelligence by dismissing the fact that I would have been able to throw you across a room as well with my wand in hand. I am magical as well!”

The words cut through him and his heart. Yes, he had been alert, ready to flee. Daniel had known that fighting the young Lord wasn´t an option for him, but his daughter could have fought magically. Absorbed in his fear combined with the fact that his mind was still in overdrive and his inability to move for over an hour had caused him to miss the reality of it all, the truth of it all.

He had orchestrated this meeting against his daughter´s wishes. He had asked Daemon for this conversation to happen.

It was like giving Christine more than one night in the Phantoms bed, allowing her to get used to the Dark only illuminated by candle light. Because more than 24 hours with her Master would have been all the Phantom needed, without her ever getting nor wanting to spend time with Raoul.

He had asked for this and his daughter had come with him, silently and had done the same as their host, dismissing him, her father. She had sat there looking like a young Lady and calmly talked about Slavery, Submission and things she would be allowed to do or not. His mind was spinning as Daemon put one arm around his daughter´s waist smirking evilly at him.

Shock caused him to forget the pain he was in and allowed him to get in an upright position. “You accepted my request because you already knew..” The young man gently kissed Hermione´s neck, his daughter enjoying the touches visibly. “I would have come back and made her my slave some years in the future. Before today the possibility of a mudblood being anything else never crossed my mind!”

There was a pause as his grip on his daughter tightened and Hermione answered the kiss, a show only for him, before he noted that his daughter was snuggled against the other. “You should explain, Hermione! He does look rather confused!” Chocolate brown eyes opened and she met his, straightening slightly. “I would have never been allowed to leave, after entering this room. Daemon left me at Hogwarts to retrieve me at a later date. You might not leave the room at all!”

With that the wand he had bought the daughter he loved was pointed at him. He had known that she was carrying it around but not that she could use it or would use it against him. He really should stop trying to help his little darling. Pain, white hot pain was the next thing he felt and the only thing he could think about for an unknown amount of time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When he came to he was healed and sitting near the hotel they had booked a suit in, his head pounding and his memory very vivid. His whole body hurt like hell and he still could feel the fire consuming his skin.

There wasn´t much left to do but wonder why he was alive and sort of healed. First, he had to sleep and hope that he was, in fact, fully healed, while trying to figure out how he could end this situation. Remembering his wife, he took several deep breaths. He probably should inform her of their daughter being gone forever.

“There you are, I have begun to worry. Where is Hermione?” “She went anyway..” Even if he did not feel an ice-cold wall rising within him each time he tried to explain more than that he probably shouldn´t tell Emma anyway. “Without packing?” A hysterical laugh formed in his belly worming it´s way up his throat and out of his mouth. Fighting against the urge to let it loose took what little energy he had managed to regain which was why he just kissed her forehead and went towards the bathroom. “There is nothing she would need to pack, darling!”          XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX      

     Hermione Josephine Riddle awoke in a King size bed wearing a light blue nightgown made of silk.  Gently touching the new, beautiful white gold necklace she had been given alongside her new middle name during the ritual, both things meant as mark and sign for her new rank she briefly thought of the night of the musical and her usage of Light spells to torture Daniel Granger.

She was a Riddle and thus a Half Blood, which meant that she had no relation to the Grangers, not anymore. Opening her eyes she looked at the royal blue canopy and sky blue sheets she lay beneath.  Getting up she looked around the room that was hers from now on onwards.

It was held in different hues of blue with chestnut furniture. Her bed was placed roughly in the middle of the room with a wonderful huge desk in front of the window behind said bed with a nice chair and the curtains were, once closed, charmed to prevent light from entering the room while, when opened, the room was flooded with daylight. To her right were two doors that led into a wonderful bathroom made of white marble with a bathtub, shower and washbasin; while the other door led into a suspiciously empty walk in wardrobe held in sunset orange with yellow thrown in and red-brown furniture.

The other side of her room held four chestnut bookshelves with a small number of books already placed on them, all of which were about the History of Dark and Light, the traditions and etiquette on both sides and such things like dress code and the different ranks. To her left was a door that would lead her out and into the rest of the castle, she had seen enough from her window to guess as much.

“Mistress being awake! Mistress needs to change. I is Anny, youse personal elf!” The creature put a sapphire blue dress on her bed with fitting high heels and bowed at her surprised look before popping away. Having her own little servant was startling, she was a just a Consort, after all. Then again, she would probably would learn many things hadn´t known about soon enough. She had accepted the lessons from school and learned from them, it was the only thing any sensible person could do. Books could learn someone only so much, after all.

Looking at the dress and silver shoes and silver underwear one last time she stepped into her bathroom and entered the shower. Once done with cleaning and drying herself she stepped towards the full-length mirror getting a good look at the visible results of the ritual she had ignored in favour of exploring her own little sanctuary. Where there had been unruly, bushy hazelnut hair and unclean bronzed skin there now was breast long, ebony brown hair falling down her back in gentle waves and flawless creamy skin.

Judging by her curves and boobs the ritual had caused her to sleep through puberty while her body adjusted to the new gene sequence. Her once chocolate brown eyes were now nearly forest green with some grey thrown in. All those part of her which she had abhorred, her long front teeth and frizzly hair as well as her lack of curves were gone now and she smiled at her reflection. Magic was wonderful that way. No Puberty, no years of waiting for her genes to finally kick in and make a swan out of the ugly duck.

Wearing wide, comfortable but very badly cut clothes in subdued colours had already been on the list of things she wasn´t very proud of, but it had been part of her defence mechanism, after all those years filled with bullies and sad looks of Emma Granger. Only to encounter a different set of bullies, after entering the magical world. She knew now that those cruel bullies would not have acted as cruelly if she would have just dressed more feminine and according to her rank. Hindsight was truly 20:20.

    Leaving the bathroom after brushing her hair and teeth she let the towel drop to the floor and dressed, aware of the fact that she was without a wand but Annie, her elf would clean her room. The ritual had caused her to grow as well which was why she had to get used to walking with those high heels after she had dressed into the prepared clothes, using her bed to get the necessary hold.

Emma Granger had been abused by her parents while they were trying to beat the behaviour of a “Lady” into her. A behaviour based solely on novels that played within the last century, the Mundanes last century. She doubted that her mother´s teachings would help her much as the Consort of the Heir of the Lord of Darkness.

Once she was sure that she would not embarrass anyone by falling on her ass while moving through the castle she carefully walked, took one deep breath and left her bedroom to find herself standing in an elegant but private living room. Daemons bedroom door was to her right, the door leading outside to her left. She knew those little titbits because her house elf had taken over as her guide and was now explaining how she would find the study of her Lord. Only once that was done did the creature leave and Hermione left.

Knocking twice after finding Daemons study one floor down, Hermione waited to be asked in, which happened several seconds later. The study was held in earthen colours with browns and greens; it was roughly the same size as her bedroom and had a fireplace and a window overlooking the nearby forest. The wall next to the door and behind the big mahogany desk was filled with shelves most of them holding books while those behind the desk and Daemon were filled with folders.

The owner of the study was sitting regally behind said desk and reading over several parchments with five books on his left, all of them opened at certain pages he had needed in order to double check whatever he was doing. Carefully manoeuvring through the room, she had slowed to read some of the books titles and was still fighting to move as upright and calm as possible. There were various folders on those shelves and she didn´t even try to reach them, even though their origins and Daemon was using them made her hide an amused smile.

The Heir of the Lord of Darkness used folders, which were a Muggle invention, at least to her knowledge. That they looked similar enough to be identified as folders and had been titled with a beautifully calligraphy did not mean that the magical world had stolen the idea. “Sit down, little bird!”

He was still using this pet name, which meant that he was expecting some more of her than a ritual and her decision to partake in said ritual willingly to deem her worthy of something more grown up. Following the soft spoken order, she sat herself into the visitor’s chair the only way she knew he liked, feet closed and slightly turned to the left, hands folded in her lap, back straight.

Daemon looked up at her and smiled briefly before he flicked his wand and allowed a thick tome to land in her lap, his eyes and mind once again on the parchments in front of him. Gently trailing her fingers over the very old book she turned it around carefully to read the spine, wondering how old and how expensive the thick leather-bound book was. +The Laws of magic+ written by Mordred, the original, was probably beyond most people’s pay check.

Opening it with the gentleness it deserved he began to read and was soon engrossed in the subject. “Little Bird?” Looking up she met amused jade green eyes and blushed slightly, she really couldn´t tell if he had called her to attention once or several times, and his expression did not give away anything but amusement at the “typical” behaviour.

“While I am aware of the fascination this book causes you to feel, we do need to go shopping as I am not going to keep conjuring clothes for you to wear!” Blushing a deeper shade of red she closed the tome gently and moved to give it back. “Keep it, it is your copy. The original does not leave our hidden library. You can read it all you want and write notes in the margins for all I care!” “May I bring it to my room?” Daemon raised one eyebrow, his lips twitching.

 “You may carry it to your room as long as you put it onto one of those useful shelves instead of starting to read again. I´d hate to have to come to pick you up!” Accepting the warning for what it was she clutched the tome and got up, moving as elegantly as she could to the door. “And next time, do remember that you could have called your house elf instead!” Her face turning a deep crimson red she fled back towards her room, careful to not land on her ass as she fought the tears of shame and old insecurities that were trying to resurface.

Darkness. Witch. Consort of the second highest ranking member of the Court. And she was carrying a book to her room. She felt hot shame rushing through her body and put the book on one of her shelves before she turned to close her eyes and breathed in and out slowly. If anyone saw her like this, if the Dark Lord saw her like this, she doubted that he would be amused. Daemon would not be amused by her antics for very long either.

Her rank came with high expectations concerning her, a very long list of duties which she had accepted during the ritual once it became clear which rank she would hold. Still slightly flushed she began to move, forcing Daemon to fetch her on top of her idiocy and inner monologue about said idiocy would only worsen the situation.

It wasn´t as if she did not know who and what he was or what he was capable of. She had tortured her father to prove her worth, even though it wasn´t her cup of tea she had to prove that she, a mere mudblood, was capable of torture. That she was capable of leaving the past where it belonged and to hurt those she loved and cared for, that she could change.

Hermione returned to find the parchments and books gone while Daemon sealed several folded parchments into envelopes by flicking his wand several times and checking over the address before he put them all in a box to the far left of his desk. Once he was done her Lord calmly stepped towards her, kissed her and embraced her. Answering the kiss, she snuggled against him to then feel the tell-tale signs of apparition. They appeared near what appeared to be a whole shopping district with flashing signs, properly dressed witches and wizards, big windows to show off the wares and the feeling of magical wards and many things magical that felt like a little power boost just being here.

“Where are we?” “Lincoln Street. Americas second biggest shopping district in New York!” He took her left upper arm gently and began to lead her through the mass of pet shops, clothe shops, book shops, apothecary’s, storage supply shops, one or two joke shops and everything else one might need. Daemon guided her to a wandmaker several side alleys later and she could feel the stares, some of them filled with irritation and others with envy.

“Lord Riddle, a pleasure to see you again!” “Good day, Alejandro. My Consort is in need of a new wand, a backup and a care pack!” Said Consort was trying to hide her wonderment and her interested in this shop that was so unlike Ollivander. For starters the wandmaker was dressed like a gentleman and his posture only strengthened the picture while the shop was not only clean but lacked the visible packed shelves with readymade wands and little boxes.

“Very well, I need you to start with the boxes over there, young Lady. Just run your fingers over them and stop by the one that feels good to you, or causes you to feel warmth!” Stopping at one box at the far right of the wall she repeated the process after the wand maker told her to and both boxes were soon summoned towards the man while she was sent to do the same with the boxes ate the other side of the shop.

This little game continued for the next half an hour. She returned to Daemons side her mind in overdrive and she thanked Lady Magic and Daemons Power as well as the design of the ritual that she did not need to fight the urge of worrying her lower lip as dozens of questions flooded her mind. It would be nice if someone answered them but asking was out of the question, not in public, not here and not with her habit of asking them in one single breath.

“The boxes contain different woods on this wall, different cores on this and gems and runes are at the back. Because most wands have two woods, shaft and handle, and two cores I tend to send my customers to touch the boxes again. By choosing the boxes you feel drawn to the wand that comes from it will be the perfect fit, or as perfect as my supply can make it, young Lady!”

Looking at the wandmaker she nodded in thanks and looked at Daemon who was watching her intently but did not say something. “You have chosen Ash for the shaft; it means loyalty, strength and has an Affinity for Dark spells. Willow for the handle which means gentleness, the wood itself is wonderful help for any kind of Healing! As cores you chose a tail hair from a Black unicorn a race that tends to use force only if necessary and are highly loyal, and Thestral heart string which are highly intelligent, obedient but protective creatures!”

Once again, she nodded in thanks and leaned back against Daemon who had put his arm around her waist. “And to bind it all, my little bird, you choose Obsidian, the stone of eternal Dark and Possessiveness, but the reasons should be self-explanatory!”

“I will put the gem at the top of the…”, Alejandro trailed off as he looked at Daemon and bowed his head. “I will splinter the stone and work it into the shaft and handle. And place the carvings and runes between them!” It was the first time she saw just what kind of influence the young man behind her had, and she remembered the things she had read, believed the moment she read and digested it with no idea how this worked.

With Daemon her Lord and Owner everything she got came from his fun. Everything was his word, his decisions simply because no one would tutor her without money and many wouldn´t because Daemon had not asked them to do the honours. It was the same with Hobby’s and anything she might want to have or wished for- you did not get anything done without funds.

She could ask, could decide some things but it all needed final approval and it was much better that said final approval wasn´t depending on the Dark Lord. Making the decision she had meant that she had decided to become the Consort Daemon wished her to be. It was at this precise moment that she began to feel the pressure of her duties.

She couldn´t struggle with this for long. She had made that decision. Lady Magic had aided her. There simply was not much time for her to doubt herself, doubt her new rank or that she was wrong. Believing she had made the wrong decision was out of the equation either way. Where would one run, after all, when trying to escape the man that basically owned her, and who would give her shelter when she had no money. She wore his necklace, after all.

This wasn´t like a Mundane woman that got beaten by her husband or children beaten by their father, those were undoubtedly dominant, were cruel. Those kind of people did not have unlimited supplies and power that sent shivers down her spine, on their side. Or Lady Magic, for that matter. The problem was that she had no intention of feeling like a victim in a situation she had chosen to be in.

She would not allow the pressure of her rank to ruin what could develop into trust and a gentle, caring relationship on the first day after waking. Those woman and children had not chosen the situation, they had not accepted the terms of living with such a man, they happened to have the misfortune of such a person as their father or husband. Maybe she should stop comparing things like that with what her rank entailed and instead pay attention to Daemon´s behaviour in public.

He had embraced her, true, but it was to show that she belonged to him in front of a trusted man that happened to be a wand maker. This was their first outing mostly out of necessity and to show her around, not a shopping tour of lovers, there would never be such a tour, at least not with public shows of affection.

Following her lord outside after Alejandro told Daemon that he would need an hour to craft her wands, silently. Obsidian the stone of Eternal Darkness. The stone was the epitome of self-explanatory and she would do her utmost to reach her goals, all of those she had set herself during the ritual. Daemon was leading her, which was unsurprising considering the situation and her “recent” change of sides.

Entering a regal looking building next to the NY branch of Gringotts forced Hermione to return to reality and out of her musings. “Lord Riddle, a pleasure to see you again! What can Salem Academy do for you?” All of her promises and everything else went flying out the window at that and she had to fight with her muscles and brain to prevent her jaw from hitting the floor.

The man behind the desk that had risen and begun to smile the second he recognised Daemon. He was around 50 years, with chocolate brown hair and chocolate brown, warm eyes, his face filled with the lines of laughter around his mouth and eyes. He wore an expensive grey suit and there were pictures of the school all around the office, a school that looked similar to Harvard University and it´s campus, with the exception of the colouration, which was white with dark blue and gold mixed in and as rather interesting carvings on the walls and statues.

“I wish to inscribe my Consort, Patrick!” The man´s eyes wandered to her, then and back to Daemon. “Very well, fill out these forms. Specific classes?” “Placement tests for most subjects!” “Anything not approved?”

Hermione calmly stepped away, as was expected, to look at the pictures and wait patiently while listening in. Placement tests meant that she would have to sit through a few days filled with those tests; their duration depending on what Daemon was banning her from. Unapproved subjects would stay unapproved, which meant that her attempting to sit in them or get an education in them was impossible. Not at Salem Academy. Not at all if she wanted to become the young woman Lady Magic had shown her. 

“With the exception of theory and some general knowledge, I do not approve of Light Magic, Mundane History and nothing from the darker branches like necromancy! Furthermore, neither crafting nor warding!” The man laughed at that, a hearty laugh.

“Why would you allow to get anyone but one of the six world renowned Masters of those branches to tutor her, Lord Riddle?” Daemon smirked briefly and continued to fill out the forms one after the other. “I´d like to have her get tested on all approved subjects for as far as she manages!” “Testing her Affinity’s are we? Very well, my lord, there would be a testing period available from the first august till the fourth, does this suit you?”

“It does indeed, thank you, Patrick!” Signing the sheets Daemon got up and turned towards her. The school would give her a little suit, allow her to leave over the weekend and report to her owner regularly. Should she break any school rules it would be Daemons duty to punish her, every punishment, regardless of in school or outside would be directly decided from Daemon. Period.

After opening a vault for her to allow her to withdraw her monthly stipend, that would allow her to replace school supplies, some other things and buy some food and drinks, they left the bank to pick up her wonderful, expensive wands that caused her magic to sing in her veins by just casting a simple Lumos Charm.

It was hardly surprising that she was led into the first of seven clothing shops after that, despite the supply and bookshops that littered their way. Bypassing those bookshops was part of the tests which was this whole trip. That they did something useful and got the things she needed was just a peachy side product. The clothes shopping caused her to reactivate her ability to learn real fast.

It did not even cross her mind to pick out comfortable, sporty or less colourful clothes in the second shop they entered and by the third her embarrassment of having to show off each and every set or dress was gone as well. Any kind of trousers caused Daemons eyes to darken and she had stopped attempting to grab them by now as well.

It did make sense, however, as the consort of a High Ranking member of a Court that would be the one authority in magical Britain and other countries in a few years should not run around in trousers or jeans. That Daemon calmly paid for three jeans and two trousers additionally to three nice feminine shirts that were comfy and two royal blue blouses that matched the aforementioned trousers caused her to smile at him.

It was after shop four that she started to like her new looks in those elegant, revealing dresses and all of the expensive fabrics. Being the ugly duck had clung to her longer than she expected and having curves to show off was a new experience all together. There were some difficulties concerning the height of the heels suiting to the clothes she picked but feeling elation during a shopping trip was as new an experience as the idea of showing off her looks.

This caused her to twirl around in the changing cabins several times. Which was why she came out of them slightly flushed, her eyes alight with mirth and happiness and her whole posture so much straighter, no slouch anywhere.

Her mood did not lessen even as they entered an underwear shop next and she simply thought of all the dresses and other clothes and picked the underwear that would suit those styles and cuts best, with Daemon once again paying without blinking an eyelash at the amount of gold invested in her appearance.

Once they were done with that Daemon gently stopped them on the street removing a sheet of parchment and self-inking quill from his inner pocket, causing her to look slightly confused up at him. “I trust that you will behave yourself, little bird. You will be able to look through one of the bookshops, as I have something to do!” Another test. Nodding she took both parchment and quill only to get a small bag with money after this.

“Our castle has four libraries. Do try to remember this fact and choose wisely!” Smiling she kissed his cheek, curtseyed to the best of her ability and went to cross the street to the one book shop she wanted to enter just because of the fact that they had passed it several times. It had been hard, at first, to not stare at each of the shop windows and crane her neck, it was an old habit that had very nearly hurt her physically just by fighting against the urge to storm the bookshops and buy everything of remote interest.

Daemon watched her go noting that his little bird was in dire need of Etiquette lessons not to mention lessons in walking properly, how to do a proper courtesy, and which differences there were. Once she was safely in the bookshop, as safely as his little bird could be with no proper education to speak of, he turned. It was time to do some of the minor tasks on his list and check several of the shops for useful and or interesting crafting supplies, artefacts and everything else that might come in handy.

Duty, however, came first and while Hermione had behaved rather well and even tried to hide her emotions behind a mask he doubted that all her old habits had died during the ritual, which meant that he could be gone for seven hours and she would still walk around the same bookshop she had entered. Right now, this was exactly what he needed her to do, though.

Because of his assortment he felt surprised at finding her waiting patiently and in a straight posture after three and a half hours, outside of the second bookshop. His surprise even managed to be visible for three to five seconds and he noted the envious glares directed towards her, glares that intensified as he neared her. She needed training and education, soon. Her beautiful stormy eyes, who should be forest green (strong emotions caused the grey in her eyes to intensify), met his and she smiled at him, a small smile but it was there and caused everyone who wasn´t already busy with staring to stop and stare.

Embracing her he felt the invisible tremble of her body and tightened his hold on his little bird before he apperated them back home. Kissing her forehead to calm her he sent her to her rooms to unpack her new clothes and books, while taking the filled parchment and quill and putting it on his overflowing desk.

He needed time, more time than he had available and for that he needed to ask his father´s permission.  Even if she was using magic and not touching each and every piece of clothing while playing dress up on her wardrobe his little bird would be gone for some time, just the time he needed to ask his slightly irritated father what he needed to ask.

Having a mudblood as Consort had caused the Dark Lord to growl for over an hour, but it did not end in a killing spree and the death of his little bird. Of course, it didn´t end that way because Magic was Magic and if the Lady had influenced this the Dark Lord had to bow to her wishes. Not always, but they were trying to remain in her good graces, and while his father wasn´t as well loved he had accepted his son´s Consort, albeit grudgingly.

And his father had still insisted on adding a purifying part to the ritual that caused her to become a half blood, not that he had had any intention of leaving her a Mudblood. They could still get rid of her if she proved to fail Lady Magic´s expectations, after all, but that way it wasn´t their fault.

Convincing his father of accepting what Lady Magic had handed them had been hard. The man was hot headed and still prone to resort to violence if things didn´t work out like he wished them to. His father was the Dark Lord, he was his Heir, but at times like these he desperately wished that his father hadn´t spent the majority of his former life in insanity. Sometimes, that man was just to childish and too prone to throw temper tantrums.

Daemon stopped in his tracks, staring out the window at the herd of Thestrals feasting on their latest sacrifice to the wards. He loved his father, he did. But sometimes he knew, deep in his heart, that the only reason why he did not leave after his time of choice offered to each of the High ranking members of a Court, was because he would rule some day.

That his father was going to retire one day and that he was the only one entitled and capable of stepping up. But until then his father was his judge, jury and last line of defence. Asking for something while he wanted to strangle the man would backfire, badly. Taking another deep breath he locked all of those thoughts away. His Heir would probably be the same and he really didn´t like that idea.

Looking at the dark sky he closed his eyes, feeling for his magic. He had been chosen. He had chosen. No one was without flaw. Especially not his father. *My Lady, please help me out here..*, taking another deep breath he pictured Hermione twirling in her newly acquired dresses with a soft smile on her lips as she tried to get used to those tight fabrics and high heels.

She would turn into an outstanding Dark Lady. If he just got the time he needed. If he could train her properly. He had taught her the basics and apparently Lady Magic liked her so he would be damned if he didn´t give this his best shot. Stubborn old man.

Looking outside again he allowed himself to relax. He would never have survived without that stubborn male. The Dursleys would have broken him. Regardless of perfect recall and power and Darkness. He owed his father. He owed the man the respect he deserved and Lady Magic had to protect his future Heir. That boy better prepare because he would ensure that he was not like his father. Even if it cost him his pride.

    


	6. A new life

The young woman glided through the castle soundlessly, her knee length black skirt swinging with each step, her lilac silk blouse, black high heels and jewellery made of white gold telling a story of elegance and money. Her hair was drawn up and held by a white gold clasp in form of a butterfly, her movements were as elegant as her clothes.

Only her eyes giving away her emotions as she left the Wing she lived in to enter the official part of the castle. Portraits and comfortable elegance gave away to pictures of landscapes that were designed to unsettle those looking at them and turning into pictures of the fabled “Hunting series” that showed Human and Creature hunts of old. The whole official part was held in colours that only added to the Warning the pictures were screaming at the visitors with dark colours like blood red, brown, black and dark greens while certain rooms had crème colours and softer additions.

There were strategically placed pictures of torture, statues of tortured of maimed people and rare “softer” spots who were there to tell the visitors that the owner was not only powerful, cruel and rich but had taste. In this case, the owner’s son´s Consort had taste but no one would bother to think that complicated.

Hermione had changed the whole main part into something that hinted at danger and placed the clear signs at different points to ensure that no one would feel too comfortable or forget who the Lord of this castle was.

It had been amusing to see Daemon frown at the sheer number of suits of armour in most shops selling to the rich and powerful everything to decorate their homes. Both men were unimpressed with the body protection only mundane knights had used and they were probably the only ones very aware of the origin of these decorations.

They were not using anything Mundanes had come up with, regardless of the amount of charms placed upon them. The folders, it turned out, were magical constructs that worked through several sets of runes, there was no other similarity but the appearance and it had been a bunch of Squibs that begun to produce them, or the Mundane version, after deciding to do something useful with their knowledge of both worlds. That happened around 1886 in Germany and it grew from there.

It was much better than the system of scrolls that had been used till 1830 and had been developed by an American wizard that had developed it for his Mastery in runes. By now even Gringotts was using the various designs and forms of the folder system, all around the world.

It had been part of her training to learn all those things and because of her having decorated this part of the castle there was nothing to catch her attention, which allowed her to mill over anything that came to mind without paying much attention to where she was going.

Those decorations were meant as a constant reminder of what one had to expect if one broke or bended the rules, most of the pictures had been there before she was allowed to redecorate, after all.  Decorating the Main part of the castle, they referred to as East Wing, was her “little” side project and had used up the astounding lack of free time she had had those past five years.

As the only submissive and feminine in this castle her taste had created the presence of elegance and power the East Wing. Developing taste such as this while growing into the woman she was now had never crossed her mind. She had never thought that both of those developments were something that required hard work nor that it would be fascinating and cause her to be happy. But it did and she loved the feeling of walking through the East Wing because it was hers in a way no one else could understand.

That housekeeping and redecorating caused her feelings such as pride, stress, irritation and happiness was a foreign concept for her. She loved to read, she loved to gain knowledge and learn how to use it but having decorated an important part of the castle belonging to the Dark Lord managed to make her feel accomplished in a way her thirst for knowledge never could.

Hermione doubted that many house wife’s felt accomplished, proud and just right, but everything that mattered was that she felt comfortable and happy. Daemon had crushed all her big and small dreams in so many, rarely gentle, ways. Muggelborns did not rise in rank nor in jobs positions, they never get a second chance and married young men that rarely held any kind of rank. It was meant to freshen up the bloodline, after all.

Daemon had allowed her to bounce off ideas (about her view of the world and such things) and listened  to her ramblings each and every time she disturbed him while he was at home. Most of the time he calmly gave her pointers to the more interesting books about those topics, explained his father´s view and very rarely his own opinions, which differed in various points from the Dark Lords line of thinking or he outright refused her ideas and views.

The Dark Heir had spent four years training her got her the best female tutors, all the while using a time-ward over their Wing. Due to this she had found her courage and felt comfortable approaching the Dark Lord for clarifications on subject and other matters.

Any punishments were doled out by Daemon anyway and she was too adjusted now in order to not grate too much on either man´s nerves. Once the ward was down Daemon had begun to travel and do whatever had been put on hold for her, failing now after all this time and money invested in her was not an option.

She might not have dreamed up her life to be like this, but it was her life now, her future and she had grown to love and like it. Ruining it all was not an option.

This world, this castle, her Lord and his father, neither of them looked at her with disdain because she went into one of the libraries and spent several hours in them. Neither of them laughed at her or cursed her for eating up knowledge and both were intelligent enough to hold entire conversations with her without losing focus or having to get things explained, it was she that would often ask for clarifications especially if it concerned interpretation.

She doubted that anyone else could ask for the Dark Lords time to discuss this or that subject or how many different interpretations those topics offered while allowing them to let her figure out which interpretations the men in her live had accepted as truth. She was a Lady that knew her place and it gave her more power than her previous future plans had ever entailed.

Her library habits were interrupted by her schedule and the duties of a Consort, which included the partaking during meals and tea time with one or both of the men. To come from a young girl that had a bossy attitude and self-worth with no chance to get a meaningful job, to a young woman the Dark Lord accepted at the same table, while his son was fond of her and both found her rather amusing, well it was a carrier no other person could claim to have made.

There were, of course, limitations to her rather long leash and there were lines that would lead to either of the men rather cursing her than allow her to step over them, but that was to be expected and she had to prove herself in public first as well. The first mountain had been climbed, but there was the Mount Everest she stood at the foot of to climb next. Proving that she deserved it all and could handle it all with the decorum and elegance her rank demanded.

Neither man had tried to forcibly change her opinions, those she had been unable to let go of or discarded as nonsense before awakening. She had seen the cold in Daemon and the cruelty in the Dark Lord and how both of them were waiting to teach her how much her insistence was appreciated when she had not even had the decency to look at those topics from different point of views before accepting it as the only truth.

She had seen the look in Marvolo´s eyes the day her training was done and she had been introduced. A look that said that she might prove a good entertainment screaming and bleeding but wasn´t worth his time and attention or worth anything at all, that she was no suitable Consort for his beloved son and would never be. It had been hard to even be allowed in the man´s presence for any length of time and having achieved that she wouldn´t ruin it. Not ever.

Her thirst for knowledge was just a hobby in their eyes, a hobby both men approved of as long as she kept talking about it like a hobby and never forgot her duties over it. It was an entirely new way of looking at literally eating books and knowledge that caused her to smile from time to time. Seeing it as hobby and not a vital method to prove herself had helped remove a big part of her issues, however, and it wasn´t as if she was forbidden to purse knowledge or as if it was actively discouraged, there were just so many other things to do and learn. Her pursuit just became her Hobby as a side effect of this.

As a Consort it did not matter that she disliked torture as long as she was capable of it, which was why she had to learn to stomach being in one of the “meetings” and “raids” by being taken to several of them in the past year.

Hermione Josephine Riddle was a Dark Witch; after all, the Consort of the Dark Heir and throwing up was not something a Lady did. That she loved it, all of it, made it very easy to accept the fact that such sessions were natural, as well as the fact that she could not change such things as it was DARK. Period.

But there would be a point where she could influence the men, and it would not be a power wasted by saving some unimportant little Mundane or muggleborn, there was no place in her heart or soul for them and if she was honest with herself, such a place for others had never existed. Only a place for those two to five people she loved and cared for.

Neither man was very showy concerning feelings and affection but she doubted that anyone could get so much leeway from either than she had been given as long as she kept meeting their expectations. Maybe she should have explained it better, the night of the musical, told her father that it was the fact that the Dark was Evil, that it was their nature to cause and inflict pain but that they were still human and that they had a cause and feelings one could relate to that had her sent running.

That the Evil lived with a certain set of Laws and rules and that breaking or bending them was punished regardless of how small the offence. That Mistakes made were punished and that there were expectations, duties and so many other things that added to the Dark side and how there simply was no difference between Light and Dark which was why Humans always interacted in Grey zones.

That, if you owned up to your mistakes and accepted your punishment one earned respect in the Dark, that it was the cruelty and not the Dark and Evil itself that had had her mind spinning and heart pounding in fear. That showing emotion, certain touches and conversations were reserved for moments behind closed doors, that sex was done only in the bedroom and that love was kept on a tight leash.

Every emotion outside of the privacy of their rooms, their Wings was faked. Emotion to give a false sense of caring, because someone expected this reaction or one kept emotions fully out of one’s face and eyes. It was like playing cloak and dagger but much more complicated and hard to do and one was required to live those rules, to breathe them.

Her training had taught her one thing. Slytherin house had fallen far if those were the basic principles of the Dark. She had seen the deep trust and caring, she was not entirely sure if this qualified as love, of father and son twice in all of five years. The Dark, it was a different world, with different options and expectations but she could not say that it was morally worse than the “good kids” in school or the arrogant wizards and witches in Hogwarts.

It was equal, but here she could learn and read to her hearts content, knew that Daemon would never discourage her pursuit for knowledge and had two men she could go to if she needed something, two powerful men that protected her and saw her as important, as worthy.

It was the first time she felt free even though her chains had tightened, the expectations were far higher and there were so many Rules and Laws to live as automatically as breathing in and out.

She was Dark and the Dark Consort and no one looked at her funny for not liking torture. She finally could spread her wings and fly.

 

The door of the receiving room opened as she strode towards it and Hermione paused briefly to look at the four huge fireplaces before her eyes were drawn to the one person she had not expected to see for some time. “Daemon!” Her, for all intents and purposes, husband smiled briefly causing her to smile and kiss his cheek. He had not given any indication of managing to see her off, the time ward would collapse in several moments and she would enter the real world on the first of august, it would be her duty to make a new such ward for her time at Salem Academy once she was about to start there.

“Be careful, ma petite!” Smiling she answered the kiss and promised to be careful, to act as she should, before she stepped in the green flames and spoke the address, her travelling cloak, Daemon had helped her into it, swirling around her.

 

The Heir of Darkness watched his Consort leave with a hint of worry in his eyes; it was one thing to act properly while living in a castle and with people enforcing proper behaviour and another situation entirely to behave according to rank in the midst of others.

The world was loud, the castle was silent. She would have to adjust to many sudden changes in less than two seconds something that sometimes even threw his father off his game.  He had no doubt in her abilities but it was part of his job to worry. Watching the fire slowly extinguish itself he turned around with a swirling cloak and left.    

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Leaving the fireplace, she drew her wand, removed the ash from her cloak and looked around the Academies receiving room. “Hermione Josephine Riddle? Welcome to Salem Academy!” Smiling politely but with visible disinterest she met the friendly grey eyes of her escort. “Yes, I am Lord Riddles Consort! You were expecting me, of course?!”

It was a game and she could breathe easier because of it, instead of focusing on the nervous fluttering in her stomach. Those placing tests she was here to take had completely slipped her mind until three days ago where Daemon had told her about the day the ward would fall.

Instead of panicking about the number of things she had not revised, she had started to panic because the results of those tests would be sent home. Then she remembered that, while results and grades were important, the worst that would happen was that she was banned from pursing knowledge in a subject she had no mind or affinity for.

The world would not end if she had a bunch of less than stellar grades, her world would not end and neither would her rank. And as long as she did not shame her Lord and the Dark Lord by acting out of line nothing would happen at all. And she refused to get back to being called “little bird” when she had only recently earned “ma petite” which was “my little one”. This term of endearment was hard earned, damnit, she wouldn´t allow anyone to make her lose it.

Daemon had looked at her and seen the panic in her eyes and calmly put his parchments aside. “You will be placed higher than most in several of the tested subjects, ma petite. Once your results are back and your placement is set you will have to choose which subjects you will attend and which ones you will attend until N.E.W.T. level or farther!”

Which had caused her to smile, kiss his cheek and hunt down the notebook with all of Salem Academy’s offered subjects. She wished to research them all and have some basic knowledge of them before she would choose any, well aware of those few she would only get tested in and those she was banned from.

 

The Academy was huge but she only got to see a few corridors in the official part of the school, the part where parents were allowed to visit and any kinds of meetings happened. Meetings which had nothing to do with the school’s day to day business.

Additionally, it was the part where all placement tests were held. She was aware of the pinkish colouration with a hint of mint that was designed to convey welcome while ensuring that no one desired to stay in this part of the Academy longer than necessary.

There were paintings of people, all of which were magical, but they all looked remarkable plain and she honestly could not recall a single one of them even though she had paid attention to find landmarks for her way back.

Even the windows were charmed to show an unremarkable scenery and she guessed it was the same part of a meadow all through the four floors and two staircases. Giving up on pretending that she had any interest in the decoration she looked at the woman that had picked her up and began to use her training to figure out who she was.

Probably one of the older students who were teachers pets like she had been with dreams of power while having none and probably never gaining as much as they want. Daemon had told her about his opinion of them and that they were seldom the kind of student that finished sooner or with the highest grades. But she doubted that much people could hold a candle to her husband’s light concerning his school carrier.

Every teacher respected him and was still in contact with him, which meant that all of the Academy’s teachers stood behind the Dark Heir. An impressive feat if one knew what she did, that the Academy had such high standards because it was the second best Magical School in the whole world and the best magical University.

Hogwarts was around place 25 in the actual international survey made by the IWC, which meant that Dumbledore had to be aware of this fact and was still maintaining it to be the best magical school in Europe.

But it was even more impressive to have all of the teachers in his pocket if one knew that nearly all of them were world renowned Masters of their specific field and some of them could do things barely a handful of others around the world could too.

Finally, they reached the one door she would take her placement tests in and the girl left her with an envious look. Not bothering to think about the reasons for her envy Hermione entered to find three men waiting for her.

“Welcome, Consort Riddle! I am Azrael Blake, the Headmaster of this Academy and Crafting teacher. Your husband has been my best student in so many years I have honestly given up on counting. This is my colleague Edward Heaven, our resident Dark Arts Teacher and Derrick Stanford, our Magical theory teacher. He is the one that is responsible for all newcomers and first graders. We don´t expect you to fall in either category!”

Making a minor courtesy she calmly met their gazes, if you could meet crimson red eyes head on you could meet their eyes filled with doubt and arrogance easily.

“You have two hours for each subject. All of our placement tests for new candidates are self-updating which means you will have to stop on your own in those subject where you are only permitted to test your theoretical knowledge! At least two of us will be with you at all times and there will be short breaks with snacks and drinks on the table to your left. Do not leave this part of the school or you will be disqualified as no one will come to retrieve you in time for your next test. Some of them are testing your general intelligence, your skills at interpretation, your ethical views and morals!”

Stepping closer to the desk and chair prepared for her she met those dark brown eyes and smiled coldly. “Are you doubting my husband’s Intelligence and Capability of choosing a proper Consort, or are you just questioning everyone coming to the Academy because of the word of one of your best students?”

Removing the chair she met the eyes of the other two men before she met Azrael’s again. “I assure you that your opinion does not matter. It is my husband´s wish that I attend this school, after all!” With that she sat down with one elegant motion and looked over the three anti cheating quills and two charmed inkwells provided form the school. Leaning back slightly she folded her hands and waited patiently for the Headmaster to stop staring and give her the first pack of sheets.

It came flying mere moments later and she noted that it were those general ability and common sense tests mentioned last. Changing her position slightly she began to write without bowing over the desk too much.

The little play had been amusing and the fact that all three men did not look happy with her raised eyebrow at the feathers and ink had only raised her spirits. It was highly amusing to show people that they were beneath you without using foul language. Being Daemons Consort did give her that much power.

But this wasn´t the time for such games or to allow her mind to wander, she was on a rather tight schedule and expected home in two days. She would not allow anything, least of all herself, to disappoint Daemon or his father’s expatiations.

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“Hello Neville!” Turning he met dark green eyes filled with power and knew whom he was looking at without having to check because of the changed looks. “Lord Potter!” The other man grinned and stepped forward, directly into his personal space. “We both know that this isn´t my name, Heir Longbottom!”

He was very aware of that, as aware as he had been when the real deal was replaced by something not human. “What are you doing here?” Harrison had taught him many things in secret; he knew why he was here.

It was fascinating that people only saw what they wanted to see and how aggressive they got if one began to break the ideal of you they had. They rarely bothered to keep their secrets private. One could hear them all as long as one pretended to be part of the scenery.

“Instead of torturing them further you should let them go!” It was not a change of subject, not as far as he was concerned. This was a dangerous young man and Harrison Potter, Dark Wizard did and said nothing without due reason. “It´s not as if I would need the money!” Another grin was his answer and the older one stepped closer.

He knew power and Darkness when he felt it and this particular Dark Magician caused him to sway slightly. So much power it could easily lead to addiction. “The magical world will need a good working, solid Greenery. An Herbologist that heads it all and sells all the necessary plants in good quality, Neville!”

He felt the spark of magic and took hold of the rail as his own magic reacted. There were easier ways to tell someone to stop wasting valuable money one would need to open up such a greenery and even better ways to imply that it wasn´t the current Magical world the other spoke about but whatever came after. After the brewing war no one spoke about and everyone kept pretending to not exist. But this was Harrison Potter aka Daemon Riddle and that man never bothered to ease people into concepts.

“As Heir of a popular Light family, I have to decline!”

Daemon stepped closer again and all this pretended friendliness was gone, leaving the dangerous predator staring at him with cold amusement. “I am offering you to sponsor your dream, darling. The Longbottom’s have never been purely Light!” He felt himself flinching but refused to back away, not because he believed that it would make the situation worse, but because he knew that he was already beneath the young man in rank and dominance. Backing away would be seen as bowing to the deal.

“Daemon, I have found the…” The dark green eyes turned a much darker shade of green and Neville flinched again as a shiver ran down his spine and the owner of St. Mungo’s stopped short several steps away. The man did know the principle of courtesy and probably had felt that drop of temperature warning him away as well.

“I am sure you would enjoy having your way with those responsible for these tragic few hours in which you were robbed of parents and a childhood but to decline, darling, you would have to have a choice!”

Soft, thin and strong fingers played with his arm that still clung to the rail before Daemon turned and met the owner halfway to talk with him. There really wasn´t a choice, he could either fulfil his own dream of a huge areal filled with greenhouses or he would head several greenhouses designed by Daemon. And either he did it because he wanted to or he did it because the other man wanted him to.

Sometimes choice wasn´t about love but about freedom. He could either obey willingly or squashed, a shade left to perform tasks supervised with no opinion of his own.

“What are you doing standing around uselessly?” Neville closed his eyes feeling his magic spike again, aware that the skin contact had been more than an attempt at persuasion, white, hot rage flooding him. His grandmother did not love him, but the idea of him. That he wasn´t the exact replica of Frank Longbottom had made her vicious in punishing his failings.

He kept failing to become his fathers Copycat and her ire grew. Which meant that, in her mind, he was worthless and deserved as much love and affection as a bug crossing over the kitchen counter. An opinion his family shared loudly each time he accidentally dropped something.

It was ironic that the one person that had raised him better and trained him better than this old hag ever could, who knew all of his secrets, was the very same person that had just drawn the line. Either you bow to me or you will be chained down.

His deepest darkest secret was in the hands of the enemy, if he could honestly think like that. It had never been the Lestrange´s which he hated with a passion. They were not those torturing him for the last 15 years.

He felt his magic spike further causing him to slowly let go of the rail. It was time to grow up after all. “Forgive me, grandmother, I did not consider it useless to take a little break from watching my parents suffer!”

Maybe looking at her face would give him a little thrill but for the moment it was much more important to return in this doomed room and contemplate his future. Most importantly, though, he needed to test if his father´s wand still worked for him.

The Dark Heir had given him a piece of his magic. If he refused to bow he would pay for ignoring this kind of gift. Looking at the two people in front of him he nearly missed the fact that august had still not followed him to keep insulting him.

Apparently, he had shocked her into silence. Alice, his mother, seemed to recognise him. This was a theory backed by her collecting chewing gum papers to build chains which she would present to him. It was all the interaction he got from his parents.

A chewing gum chain and empty eyes. Whatever made Alice like him was probably nothing that could be compared to true recognition. As child he had tried to cling to hope by pretending that both of them smiled at him occasionally. He had kept it a secret, fearing his relations would crush this childish fantasy and he had been right. As soon as he slipped up after several years they begun to laugh and point and call him an idiotic dreamer.

Those smiles were their muscles twitching, all of their muscles twitched at one point during the day and he just happened to cherish their lips twitching so he could pretend it were smiles directed at him. That day, when he was barely four years old, the rage had reared it´s ugly head. Why where they keeping them locked up if the people were gone and just the body was there? Why did they have to be so mean to him?

Smiling wryly, he stepped further into the room. It was a hospital room like any other, smelling like antiseptic and cleaning supplies. Because his parents couldn´t talk or express themselves the window seemed to be open day in and day out and several years ago he began to suspect that the hospital staff hoped to get rid of them that way. Their bodies could still fall ill, after all.

Harrison had taught him what their nearly two hour long Cruciatus exposure truly meant. That the connections in their brain, their nerve endings that could connect, were fried out. It was only by chance and magic that their basic brain functions were still intact. They could breathe, sleep, swallow, and their body was even capable of digesting.

Somehow the treatment here had allowed them to relearn using the toilet and eating on their own, without aid or needing to be tube fed. His Liege and Friend had explained it all in great detail, after all. Nothing could bring their personality back because the part of their brain responsible for their personality was just a mass of crisscrossing scars. The nerves in their Hypothalamus, Hippocampus and Pain areal weren´t just fried at the ends, they had been shredded.

What they could do was relearn things, like holding a spoon and folding chewing gum paper. But they had been here for the past 15 years and no new improvements had happened for the last six. At the beginning you couldn´t come to close, much less enter their personal space as they would start trashing around, flailing their arms. It had taken the Healers over two years to figure out that this was their instincts reacting to a threat and how they could prevent that, by long exposure to their son and those mainly responsible for their treatment.

By now their organs were damaged from all those potions they got to take or had been force fed with and their skin was greying and shrivelling. His parents were dying from the treatment that was meant to heal them. And the ironic part was that they would keep dying for years. The Healers were treating them to repair the damage the treatment had caused to ensure that they would keep surviving.

Sometimes he wished the Lestranges had brought a pair of Dementors instead, that way their bodies would have gone a certain amount of time later. Instead their bodies worked, their souls were there and they even had retained their magic, but there was nothing else there. Frank and Alice were gone, had been for 15 years now.

15 years in a hospital with three meals, regular check ups and all the potions and spells used so far had cost them six million galleons so far and it was going to get worse what with all the damage the treatment had caused, It was good that their pain areal was fried as well or they would be trashing about in pain, unable to scream because the Healers never managed to repair their vocal chords, leaving his parents unable to make sounds.

It had been deemed unnecessary, they couldn´t speak so why repair the vocal chords. Gently removing the wand his grandmother had insisted he use he hid it beneath Frank´s pillow. It was to risky to try and use it and it had never worked well anyway. Taking one last look he kissed his unresponsive mother forehead, squeezed his fathers shoulder and left, noting that Augusta was staring at the open door, unseeing.

Using the chance, he slipped away. It was time to get a proper wand.

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Hermione put down her quill and slowly stood up, nodded at the teachers and left, allowing her mind to wander. She had finished her placement test, just in time for dinner. Her mind, after a brief period of joy, then circled back into the past.

Her first two years of her training had been cruel and she had cried so much that, at one point, she learned that, contrary to her firm believe, there always were more tears. One could not cry herself or himself dry.

Now done with all these tests the past came back to the forefront of her mind, the day her world shattered into tiny pieces and kept shattering even though she was trying very hard to rebuild it again. The day her believes became clouded with the harshness of truth and the days in which her sources of pride and happiness were crushed over and over again. It had been a very long very hard way.

Those tests had driven home just how long and hard she had trained. How far she had come and how much she had changed.  There was nothing left of Hermione Granger and what little memories she had retained of this dead person were slowly slipping through her awareness. Soon she would have forgotten the girl. It felt good, as if the last of those heavy chains would soon fall off of her wings.

Someone had left the door to the receiving room open, allowing her to find it rather easily. Green flames were engulfing her mere moments later, to bring her home. Six years had passed since that day in the restaurant in New York, three of which had been hell. Hermione was very aware of all the things she was capable off and all the feelings she was capable of.

Not many people were forced to face their worst fears, inner darkness and move on, because there was no way back. No point of return. Sometimes she had cried because of the loss of her parents but now she knew that they would rather call a priest for an exorcism than accept her as the Lady she had grown up to be. She would never cry because of whom she had to leave behind, would not disrespect Daemon by clinging to this last part of a dead girl out of spite not even if she had issues with her new self and reality.

But those tests had shown her how much of a hassle and depressing amount of hard work it would have been to get a lowly paid anywhere for anyone with Hermione Granger´s rank. Especially now, with the war, which was rather one sided at the moment as the Light refused to see the signs of it looming just around the corner. With luck the bloodshed would be held minimal, at least within the magical community.

Not that she had an aversion of shedding blood, in her mind it only led to more work for the house elves because someone had to clean up the mess. Smiling she stepped out of the fire place and removed the soot from her cloak before she moved through the room and towards her own to shower, redress and join Daemon during dinner.

Looking in the mirror, at her reflection she smiled again, a soft smile this time. It was astonishing that she was the one exception aided by Lady Magic herself. The one girl Daemon liked to touch and kiss and hold hands with even though there never would be a lot of kissing and cuddling.

Sex was another matter, as Daemon was required to Sire Heirs of his own, but if he decided to take that step it would be after the war and not an often-occurring event. It startled her that he could feel true affection for her even though her anatomy was all wrong and that magic had blessed her. That the Lady allowed her such a high rank instead of a slave girl here used to breed new Heirs.

But because he was the Heir of Darkness a real marriage could only work with a person of the gender Daemon preferred. This was one of many rules and Limitations Magic´s Dark champion had to uphold and deal with. Marriage out of necessity was a political move Lady Magic accepted as necessary but her Champions and their Heirs were held to another standard than those unimportant enough to marry to further their rank.

Of course, this only was true for male Heirs, the females would be given away for political reasons, but there was one thing other cultures with such a view on females had not, each Heir to a champion would be “set loose” after their training around the age of 14 to 18 for at least one year where they could do what they wanted. With little to no funding from the family and even less protection.

This time period was filled with tests through the Lady´s Luck, Magic and Fate and the Heirs had to prove themselves. If they choose to they could turn their back on all of it.

This, of course, came with a price like everything else in this world did, and the family would turn their back onto the Heir as well. It was the reason why the Dark Lord accepted her at his son´s side- his son had proven himself more than worthy and returned much stronger than he had been when he left.

Neither of the men in her life would dare anger the Lady, aware of the fact that she could remove the gifts given. And that she would not do so from the start was nothing either of them considered a risk worth taking.

Slipping in her Amber coloured dress with the red tinge she left her rooms to join said men and get up to date with whatever those two had been up to. Her duties did require that she was ready for the storm, and who else would know about one brewing if not those two. They would be causing it, after all.

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“Are you done, ma petite?” Hermione smiled and told Daemon to come in. It was something of value in this wonderful world, privacy. His eyes moved from the corset around her upper body to the silver dress and he calmly moved towards her.

The corset would turn invisible the moment it sat perfectly which would allow the silver dress to look rather see-through. An Illusion her tailor had come up with, the moment she had given him the contract to sign as her personal designer.

Daemon began to lace the corset and then he applied pressure. Already used to this Hermione began to focus on her breathing, it wouldn´t do to look pretty and then collapse after half an hour because she could no longer breathe. Once the corset sat it turned invisible and she slipped into the dress with Daemons help.

He had allowed her to choose the tailor and had paid for those dresses and corsets. It was an unspoken fact that he enjoyed helping her into all of it and he did so nearly every time. For those rare times Daemon could not either his father, which had been rather awkward the first two or three times or her personal elf helped her. The problem with clothing was that one could infuse it with magic, could even dress into it with magic but once it was infused too much the usage of dressing spells would ruin the clothes.

Some things had to be done the “muggle” way and neither of the men in her life blamed her for her intense dislike of having little, cold, grubby green fingers touch her. House elves simply couldn´t do such things as fixating a corsage on their owner properly. It was a skill set they simply did not have.

And because it hurt, they couldn´t do it properly as they would simply stop pushing at one point fearing punishment if they hurt their owner. One couldn´t blame the little creatures, of course, why should they understand that human females allowed clothes to cause them pain and issues with their movement and breathing.

She had shared this opinion, of course, and only earned lovingly exasperated looks from either of the men in her life, thus she had never spoken of it, ever again. House Elves were lowly creatures and one of the handful of Creatures roaming the Earth that were neutral in Affinity and magic, they all disliked them but even though they were treated well no one thought about such things or tried to understand them. Until she had to open her mouth and prove that, yes, there was someone who did think it through.

It was silly, of course, she would never hold a conversation with such a creature, but it was one of the things her mind had found interesting enough to brood over when she wanted to calm down or was forced to concentrate on her breathing. A simple thing to mill about, with no feelings attached to it. Just idle contemplation. She had vowed to never use House elves as a topic for this little hobby of hers again.

Once she was done dressing Daemon gently pulled her hair to the left and charmed a beautiful silver clasp into it to hold it where it was. The clasp looked like the leave of a willow tree inlaid with sapphires and onyxes and fit perfectly to her sapphire blue dress, silver jewellery and silver shoes. Calmly taking her arm, he led her out of her rooms, through the main part of the castle towards one of their conference rooms that were nothing else but smaller dining rooms with a little more impressive colouration and decoration.

They entered and everyone stood, several men and a handful of females that were here to look good, just like her. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I´d like to introduce my son Daemon and his Consort Josephine!” Kissing the Dark Lords cheek impressed them enough to allow her to sit down after one courtesy and it served to amuse Daemon and Marvolo.

The meeting was one of dozens those two had held for the past decade and it were the same stuck up old men lusting for female flesh every country insisted on giving a high-ranking position. In their eyes it was impressive to have such a beautiful Lady like her kiss the Dark Lords cheek and be seated instead of having to serve them. It was a tradition that came up a few years before the Muggles did the same thing and one of those things Humans had come up, which meant that neither of her men was inclined to keep around much longer.

They were, after all, going to re-establish Lady Magic’s Rules and Laws and would not allow idiotic traditions to remain. Especially because the strict rules of female behaviour applied to those of the Royal family and higher ranking families but not the other females in the magical world. This and the fall from grace allowed such a match like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson to happen, and of course, one couldn´t ignore the power of blackmail.

“What a beautiful Consort you have, Lord Slytherin!” Smiling at the man, a smile that made clear that she accepted the compliment but thought nothing of this particular person and that she had no interest in him whatsoever, she glanced towards the men. At this moment in time Daemon was the Heir and not the Lord of Slytherin as it was this title that was intertwined with the Lord of Darkness.

Sometimes History had its perks. “Forgive me, my lord!” Such men usually did not bow this easily and she decided to pay much more attention at the goings on beside her husband’s calm but stony expression. Finding what had caused the reaction forced her to hide her smile behind the cup of tea that had appeared in front of her.

 Nagin had found a new toy and decided to cuddle it. This new toy only happened to be the offending visitor, or at least this was what they were led to believe.

The praise continued as Nagini applied pressure on her new toy for quite some time just to make sure that he would be very silent for the rest of the evening. Smiling at it all and thanking them politely she kept drinking her tea and nibbling on the sandwiches. Those compliments were nothing she took pride in or found any kind of interest in, but they were necessary and if they felt envy because of the three of them looking good then she could at least use those platitudes to amuse herself.

That she was not going to visit them and give them a few hours of fun just to get them on their side had thrown them enough to stop the compliments after less than five Minuit’s and the woman had to fight their mouths falling open in shock. To further this and entertain her men she was careful to eat and drink very suggestively without looking at anyone but Daemon.

It was a balance act. Doing too much or big gestures would look bad for them, feeling awkward would end the meeting before it began, but finding the right middle would bring out their emotions, would allow the Dark Lord to play them much more easily and amuse all three of them.

None of them spoke to her directly, of course, not once, but she had been expecting this and had no trouble stopping her little game when Daemons hand gently brushed against her tight over halfway through the meeting. Sitting up a little straighter she folded her hands in her lap and listened while looking very satisfied, which only caused the females to glare at her. In reality it was the only safe way to stop her little game by pretending to be done with eating and drinking.

With her game of flirting and giving the fitting responses, which were giving none but little smiles, brief glances while allowing Daemon to call them out if they overstepped the work of both her men, who were shamelessly using their male guests lack of focus led to their guest’s opinion of them to rise. Which in turn caused their wish to align themselves to grow.

Their society was simple like that; they would roll over easily enough if they only saw that one was, in fact, better than them. It was a reverse message. Yes, we did invite you but to be honest we could care less if you join us or not. We are smart, powerful and look good, it´s your decision if you stand in the way or not. We are pure blood and live the old ways, your support or lack thereof does not bother us either way.

Their guests were here to test them, waiting for the shoe to drop. Which was why they had to charm them, throw them off their game, so they would never see the other shoe dropping. She was, in fact, breaking out skills that had been drilled into her but never been put to use until now. It was exhilarating and amusing.

Feelings that remained even after their guests had left with the promise of a dinner in Italy to seal the Deal they had made during the meeting and those feelings refused to leave as Daemon gently guided her to his father´s study. “Well done! You will need to take your Consort shopping, my Angel!” She felt herself blush, it was a veiled compliment but getting any compliment from this man was rare enough.

Daemon smiled wryly and raised one eyebrow, stepping further into the room and relaxing slightly. “I will?” The look that followed this little question was enough to settle the matter and cause the younger man to smirk amused. “Is there anything we need to do tonight?” Red eyes closed briefly as both men worked through their lists of things that were necessary.

Her Lords question did not entail all those things to do with their war and political dances but specifically things that needed to be done tonight. Knowing that this could take a while caused her to bid them good night and leave, as impressive as their minds were there was always something that had to be done as soon as possible.

Moving through her home she went into their library, took one of the books she had started reading and sat down. Soon enough school would start for her and she would need to know these runes and spells by heart. That the book was written by Tom Marvolo Riddle and was one of two existing copies went without saying.

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They left two days later, for the promised shopping trip. Daemon had left the night of the meeting to attend several others and she had spent her time planning her schedule after receiving the results from her placing tests. Choosing Daemon and being the Dark Consort above any and all other career choices made it much easier to pick and choose her subjects. There were no requirements she had to meet to qualify, after all.

“Do not exhaust yourself” it was a warning that rung in her ears even though she had already decided that she would rather stay home and follow her duties than have more than two masteries.

Should she intend to purse more later on, well, she had two men at home that were Masters in Crafting, Necromancy, Dark Arts, Offensive and Defensive Magic, Law and many more. For now, the Consort needed to organise all those meetings, now that she had been allowed to sit in on one the organisation had been handed to her.

They were fighting a war without raising alarm clocks, but it was still a war even though the battles happened silently and the changes were already happening. She should home for all of this. And she should be able to help, which was why she had decided to take Healing as one of her mastery subjects.

Daemons own mastery would not have any use if he was the one wounded, after all. Picking Psychology as her second Mastery was just as easy a choice. She would, of course, take O.W.L s in every offered subject and N.E.W.T´s in a bunch of them.

Daemon picked her up the very second, she had finished with her educational schedule and sent it away with Artemis, her house elf. They went to Lincoln Street and made all stops, starting by new dinner plates and several other kitchen, food and dinner related things, new decorations, books, potions supplies and clothes before they both visited the hairdresser and went towards the public floo centre some five hours later.

“Daemon?” Her voice was lowered, as was proper when the matter was private. They did this little murmuring rarely because doing it at all should be avoided in public. As well as too much and intense body contact, but that was nothing she felt bad about. “Yes?” “Could we go to Diagon Alley?” It would be the one final test. Would anyone recognise her? Would she be able to be herself or fall back into old habits?

Emerald eyes lit up briefly and her Lord nodded once before he threw powder in the flames and they soon were travelling towards Britain’s only magical shopping district.


	7. Outing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I´d like you to remember that I do not own the HP Universe and don´t earn money with posting this, it´s just something I wrote for my own entertainment and I am posting it purely to boost my ego.   
> I swear that I would have put out a warning if there was something akin to Incest, Rape or other such topics we don´t mention in polite society!!   
> Hermione’s adoption was through random pureblood (Black) blood in a vial, only her Consort status gives her the last name.   
> And while we are at it: This fanfiction is rated teen and above! You were WARNED!  
> ENJOY!!!!!

Ironically enough they still received the full “stop and stare” program even though they were neither Harry Potter, Lockhart, Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom nor the Dark Lord. And Diagon Alley could not be compared with Lincoln street because here it was full of eye watering colours, loud from all the chatter and screeching animals and it was really dirty. Both sneered at that, out of reflex, and Hermione fought the urge to wrinkle up her nose or turn around and leave.

The noise only grew with each step as the shop owners began cursing louder, parents searched for their giggling children. It was chaos everywhere. But it was a perfected kind of chaos, indicating that everyone had simply accepted that it was that way and moved on. No one noticed that most shops badly needed a makeover, or that the street´s charms were wearing off everywhere, which explained the sounds from the shops getting this loud and the slowly breaking cobblestones beneath their feet.

Only Gringotts was still in pristine condition but the fact that the whole building was made of white marble, infused with runes and Goblin magic made this an unnecessary comparison as it could hardly qualify as exception to the rule. They contracted those making the damn wards and those that broke them, after all.  Most Countries could only offer one place to learn Warding and Ward breaking, the Bank run by the Goblins. Goblins that did the utmost to ensure that no one realised that there was a much better education in America or Japan.

“Has it always been this… plebeian?” Daemon smiled and gently took her arm, guiding her towards the bank. Not that many could have seen the brief smile. “It seems that way, ma petite” He was, of course, referring to the lack of shock and disgust on the patrons faces that had led her to the shocking conclusion mere moments before.

Her mouth formed a thin line of disgust entirely on its own accord and she it would be cost her a lot of effort to hide it, which was why she allowed it. This street, it was like the Fantasy Shopping Street for ugly witches with hats that had warts all over their face and body.

The muggle children´s books coming to life, which might have been the reason why she had never found it ugly or odd, just a slightly irritating part of this irritating world with magic sticks and biting books that wanted to be stroked to open up. And the same thing went for the flying brooms.

“What is on your mind?” “We should buy some books in London and see just how deep they bow for Muggelborns!” Daemon simply tightened his grip and his eyes lit up before they darkened as the implications of her words sunk in. “We should!” Knowing that she probably had sent her Lord on yet another war path, all she could do was nod and gently brush her fingers over his hand while she tried to soften her face.

They were soon going to do something productive and it wouldn´t do to look as if she was smelling something really bad and seeing something she felt nothing but disdain for, not when they would soon have to deal with Goblins.

The Dark Lord called it “casual dress” what they were currently wearing, which meant that Daemon wore black trousers, a white button down shirt, an acromulata silk robe and dragon hide boots while she wore a forest green dress which was a mixture of summer dress and cocktail dress with silver patterns on it with laced silver high heels, her hair was drawn up in a loose bun.

Her right arm was placed firmly on Daemons left, it was the most contact allowed in public and they were showing her off as his legal High ranking Consort, a Rank that came with a Ring of promise and Ownership and had nothing to do with wedding bands. They moved in perfect sync, Daemons purposeful strides as she glided alongside him without looking as if she was being led around.

It was Daemons impressive feat at the Academy and their awareness of his future as Lord Slytherin that drew the envious stares in America, but here they were stared at as well. Either because they were representing things no one believed to have been true once or simple envy concerning their stunning looks. She honestly couldn´t think up anything else that would qualify for such an interest in a young pair walking down Diagon Alley.

Her irritation grew as she identified most stares as those of hungry, calculating wolves. Those people were trying to gauge their worth. Tightening her grip she followed Daemon and the Goblin to the private rooms well aware of the coldness entering her face and eyes. Those vermin were so far below her it would be a waste of time and energy to teach them manners. Disgusting little bugs.

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Draco Malfoy watched the pair from the moment they entered the bank until they vanished into the corridor where the offices used for private conversations were located. There was only one word to describe them: Royal.

It was a word his parents and grandfather used to describe the Legendary Royal families, those rare times they spoke of long forgotten, better times. Behaviour and appearances that were nearly mystical as no one believed it could ever be achieved by anyone.

Something about them rang a bell in his mind which caused him to look more closely than he would have done otherwise. They moved with grace and their faces remained mostly blank, with the exception of little changes that indicated sneers and disdain. That they did not speak with each other meant that they were well versed in what Myth and Legend called “the Royal Silence”, everything they had to say would be spoken about in private, at home.

While Goblins usually had no qualms about calling out the names of the people here for a little chat, none of them dared to speak the names of this particular pair of humans and they all bowed as they passed. For the second largest group of neutral Creatures this was saying something and only added to his suspicions.

Though they spoke softly and with fondly about them, neither his parents nor his grandparents, wanted those old times back. They actively refused to live after those Old Rules and Laws while hopelessly trying to copy them. While he had found his parents behaviour in public rather impressive this pair was out of reach for either Narcissa or Lucius.

He had been taught to read people and spot weaknesses but the only thing he received from them was “we are powerful, you are beneath us and we will gladly show you how deep one can still fall”. This was how he wanted to be, desperately wanted to be. But his parents had never lived the example and his mouth had still this irritating habit of opening and spitting out words for no good reason and with no prompting of his mind.

His parents might have taught him to discover peoples faults but he was still struggling to deal with all of his own faults. His family refused to accept that pure bloods, especially his generation, was filled with wrong behaviour, little to no control over strong emotions and lack of intelligence. Despite this being the utter truth.

Breeding was well and good but their education and training was lacking, he was painfully aware of that. When he was ten his uncle refused to invite the family to Russia for his birthday and instead all relatives from all over the world travelled to Britain.

Figuring out the reason had been the first crack in his little perfect world made off glass. They all had enough of those Myths and Legends in their traditions and were appalled at Britain’s lack of any proper decorum according to those Laws.

Each time they came to visit, Draco felt as if he lost the floor beneath his feet while his parents got angry because they just couldn´t keep up. This was why they had never had family reunions, and tended to avoid the family, with the exception of mandatory visits that happened every three years.

“Deadly grace and Royal silence!” Draco nodded at Daphne to show that he had seen it and heard her. “Who do you think is this?” Fighting the urge to groan he looked at Blaise, his best friend and sighed. This was the reason they never could reach such a level. They simply could not keep their mouths closed and were still ruled by their childish impulses.

“Something about them looks strangely familiar..” Theo said softly from beside them and Draco could not help but confirm that strange feeling of familiarity. “Not even our parents can do that!” Draco sneered at that, very aware of his friends issue with simply going along. Tracey Davis had not had a wakeup call and could find no fault in her parents.

It was no secret that Theo was the punching bag of his biological father and felt neither respect nor love for the drunk while Daphne´s parents were too engrossed in switching sides every few months to bother with such a plebeian task like raising their children.

And he doubted anyone needed a repeat why Blaise had no illusions about their culture and traditions. In a world were woman were smiled at and glared at if they made a career, were it was of utmost importance to marry and bear heirs, one woman could go from one husband to another and accumulating gold right, left and centre with no one stopping her.

“Do you have to say it out loud?”, chided Daphne and turned red as the pair returned. Her voice had rung through the hall and the young men of probably 20 years, at least in looks, as well as the young woman of probably 17 reacted to it by briefly scanning the hall. Meeting their eyes they dismissed the whole group of teenagers and turned back to the goblin.

The woman´s face softened and a small smile played over her features. “May your gold flow and good luck rain down on you!” The goblin bowed and wished them a nice day before the pair turned again, his arm gently taking hers. They walked towards the doors and he kissed her briefly on the cheek just as the Goblin started moving out of the bow.

The gesture had been deliberate and the Goblins were meant to see it all. The one Goblin that had been their host suddenly looked rather determined, turned once the pair was gone and left the Hall with purposeful strides. “It was Political...”, softly murmuring what he had discovered he got up and moved a little faster, hoping to catch the pair. His friends exchanged glances but followed nonetheless.

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By the time they followed the pair outside, leaving Flourish and Blots, Draco was certain that they had been spotted three shops ago. But he kept this thoughts to himself, to engrossed in watching and hopefully finding out some pieces to the puzzle, anything at all would be like a gold mine right now.

“They know that we are following them!” Glancing at Daphne he felt the sudden urge to throttle her just out of spite and because he could. This woman was unbelievable. For once he was following people to learn from them and find out why they felt familiar and she could not stop talking, worse, she was insisting on stating all of his thoughts out loud.

The pair stopped just as he had decided to keep Daphne around for a while longer and was currently ordering ice cream as a Grey falcon disturbed their dessert. The young man removed the letter from the well behaving animal, reading it as the Falcon screeched once and left the way it had come. He ate only a little of his ice cream, refolded the letter, kissed his Consorts cheek and left with.

If he was in a hurry one would have to know him better, because Draco couldn´t tell the difference between strolling elegantly and leaving in a hurry that after receiving a letter.

The woman remained seated, her hair put over her right shoulder and held together by a silver clasp. She held the cup with one hand to aid the anti-spillage spells, or to show that she did not trust said spells and would hate to sully her clothes, while she ate with the other hand.

Her eating was deliberately slow. There was no indication about her tastes, her face did not show if she liked the ice cream or disliked it, just the way a Lady should eat in public surrounded by people she was not fond of. It were her roaming eyes and the occasional little twitches of her mouth that told them how intensely disgusted she felt sitting in the ice cream pallor that was filling up slowly with the ever increasing noise around her.

They wouldn´t be able to see all of this little facial movements if they weren´t watching her so intently. Her calm slipped for two seconds when the Weasley twins entered alongside their family and began to set off fireworks while Molly and the others ordered their ice cream. The fireworks itself would have been something interesting to watch, but typically Twins, their fireworks went through the room at large first.

Once the things exploded everything near them did so as well causing ice cream pieces and glass pieces to spill at every patron currently in attendance. Their Person of Interest was no exception, her shield having activated one second too late. Rising elegantly and slowly she looked around, noted the damage, that everyone else was laughing and removed the dirt from her clothes with one little flick of her wand.

That there was one person not laughing alerted the Twins, who hastily began to look apoplectic to appease the woman whose green-grey eyes had turned cold. It was then that Draco found out why he felt such a strong familiarity.

Grey eyes and wavy dark brown hair combined with this particular shade of creamy skin were popular factors of the Black family. It´s how one identified this particular family.

Something that was impossible if Sirius Black had not managed to squirrel away an Heiress. But then she would have been mentioned in any of the records about pure blood children or the Hogwarts charter and there never had been a missing child or the Ministry would have begun searching for her.

“I apologise, dear. They are nice boys but can be a little rough!” The young woman turned to face Molly Weasley, her hair back in place and everything else back to perfection. “As well as you should, dear!” She turned and left without caring for the woman´s face turning purple or the shocked looks she received.

Not to be outdone Draco set off after the twins that had managed to circle the young woman and were currently begging her in the middle of Diagon Alley. Begging to be forgiven, probably a tactic to stop mount Molly from erupting.

Their begging was, like everything they did, loud, noisy and very unbecoming of pureblood Heirs. It was her brief frown and wry smile that gave Draco pause just as his friends had finally caught up with him causing them to run into him. He would have thanked his stars that everyone was too busy watching the trio in the middle of the street to notice a bunch of pure blood kids running into each other, but his brain had connected the dots.

Blood adoption. It had to have been a ritual to turn Hermione Granger into this stunningly beautiful young woman. The age difference and the behaviour suggested time freezing spells of some kind and now he knew why the twins were doing such a ridiculous little dance, they had recognised Hermione.

His skin turned cold, knowing that they were not supposed to figure out the secret and he wouldn’t have, not if he hadn´t stalked her for two hours and was now seeing minimal facial movement.

“Get up, silly boys! Who raised you? Shooting around explosives that look funny in a restaurant is the most idiotic thing I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing! And now you have nothing better to do than embarrass me and yourself further?”

That both Devils looked embarrassed and shocked was more than enough to fascinate everyone else, which meant that Draco could openly watch Hermione calmly step away, her face once more an unreadable mask and her eyes cold and distant.

“Grow up, and refrain from accosting me any further!” With that she left, head held high and the masses parted like the sea for Moses to let her through leaving two shell shocked Weasley´s behind who were beet red. If it was out of embarrassment and shame or budding anger was not clear, and the blonde Malfoy had much better things to do than analyse this.

The group managed to enter the apothecary, too near to Knockturn alley to be frequented by most people, in which their Person of interest had vanished, just as the shop keeper, who had apparently followed her through his shop to get her to buy more, hoping to get some of the money she seemingly possessed, was moronic enough to get to close to her.

“Would you be so kind as to step away?” Her tone was sharper than a knife and it shocked Mr Smythe to jump backwards, his eyes wide his slouched posture straightening in reflex as if he feared an attack.

“I would not care even if Potions master Severus Snape sang his praises for your ware right now, I quite frankly doubt that he has the right to carry his hard-earned title if he did! Half of your stock has been lazily tended to, if at all and while I understand that some people are incapable of using certain spells and charms it is no excuse for them to wear off of dangerous potions supplies!”

The apothecary owner moved backwards again even though her voice had softened. Draco felt Daphne’s jaw drop and Tracey’s eyes bulge out without even glancing behind him. Telling someone that one was stupid, a liar and a squib in one sentence, while managing to decrease Severus Snape´s worth (in the eyes of those two other people currently in attendance) was a huge feat for two sentences in a calm and polite tone of voice.

“Of course, one could presume that you simply forgot to check through the shelves and remove those things that have expired their usefulness, but it´s much nicer to assume that you are simply incapable of casting those spells and charms than to assume that you are unfit for this job. Maybe Severus Snape could replace you?”

That was less subtle but it caused Mr Smythe to go away, far away, and begin to check on everything in his rows. Had he stayed three more seconds he would have seen the little cold and triumphant smile on her face as well as the brief lightening of her eyes. 

She had done it to get several things in her bag to a much cheaper price. She was cheating the seller and degrading him while she picked the best out of his stock doing nothing but confronting him publicly with the truth of most of his wares condition.

Causing pain with the truth and getting something out of it without much of an effort. His theory proved true, and this time he did thank the stars that his entourage was keeping their mouths shut when Hermione went to the counter to pay. “Those are.. Lady, do you even know what this is you are asking?” It was meant as a slight against her person and intelligence.

“You should be thankful that anyone comes here to buy, Mr..”, she stopped and acted as if she was honestly unbothered by not knowing his name and being silly by thinking that she should ask for it. “Or have you not found my words to be the truth? Be assured that my Husband will tell his friends at The Academy about this little apothecary of yours!”

The shop keepers eyes went wide and he ended up giving her three of his rare supplies for free just because she had dropped those words, too greedy to understand that it would be anything but praise her husband would hear and tell his friends. This woman was above bribery.

Once she was several feet away and had stepped into a side street that ended at a wall and led nowhere while looking like she had the desire to move there while well aware of where she was going she called her house elf nearly inaudible and put all of her recently purchased things in a beautifully carved chestnut box. The elf bowed and popped away without further instructions and she turned slightly moving through the hidden entrance into Knockturn without one fraction of hesitation.

“She..” “Be silent!” His heart was beating fast, too fast and he had trouble breathing, which explained his sharp tone as he cut off Tracey. It would have been useless if the girl told all of them how they would have been seen if Hermione had turned around to leave the side street.

Later he would be sure that it was the adrenaline of being nearly discovered, even though he would have bet 20 Galleons that she already knew that they were following her, that caused him to act ten Minuit’s later as she left another shop and moved into the side street with the secret passage to the shady apothecary in Diagon.

“Granger!” No reaction but he wasn´t going to stop, even though his friends were staring at him in utter shock. “Hermione Granger?” It had to have been the “Hermione part because she began to turn before he even got to finish her last name.

Now that she was up close and he got a front view he understood why his friends were still looking at him as if he was crazy. His little crazy idea, no matter how true it might have been, would have never crossed his mind if he had seen her crème coloured, flawless skin and full lips sooner not to mention the intensity of those cold green grey eyes.

If she had denied the last name and looked even remotely confused he would apologise but she was doing neither, her face only showing a small frown of about three seconds as if she was trying very hard to figure out who they were. “Malfoy, Zabini, Greengrass, Davis, Nott”

Her eyes roamed over them as if to verify her own words before she met Blaise eyes who had asked her who she had become.  Her face softened briefly into the kind of expression that suggested that the joke following would be on the one asking.

“You are questioning who I am after following me for hours and behaving like plebeian children? Such unbecoming behaviour in purebloods makes it painfully obvious how far this society has, in fact, fallen. Additionally, staring and constantly losing control over your mouth is unbecoming and unattractive!”

A low chuckle filled the air and her face softened again, this time into a small smile as all of her attention moved from them to the young man arriving behind her. “Toying with little helpless children, ma petite?”

“I will try to refrain from toying with children in the future!” He kissed her cheek and glanced over them a bubble of silence rising around them as he twitched with one of his fingers.

Draco felt the sizzle of magic and left his thoughts about Hermione looking much more at ease now that she was no longer alone. “Has anyone else found out?” “The devil twins, to my utter surprise. But they wouldn´t have if they had not been stalking me from the moment we left the bank, which means only the Twins did figure it out!”

Daemons eyes narrowed after lighting up, having the Terror twins on their side would be a wonderful, she doubted that the Light would ever use their potential, but then desperate times called for desperate measures and some such and Daemon usually removed the danger bevor it even appeared.

“Have your parents not taught you proper behaviour? Are you aware that following a married woman for no reason without any relation to her while staring is a punishable offence? Maybe your forefathers manage to teach you manners!”

Draco kept meeting the young and dangerous men’s eyes as his friends looked to Hermione. He knew the look for help was useless, he had paid attention and knew that she would never openly defy her Lord.

She would not ever talk about this and stand next to him, regardless of how brutal he might murder them just to make sure no one else did something as stupid as staring at his possession without permission for more than three seconds, not to mention stalking her and embarrassing her and him by calling her name loud and in public.

They were several classes up, and with Hermione now a Black Half Blood and married to this man whose magic caused his own to quiver in fear and shiver in expectation no help would come forth of the former mudblood, even if anyone would try to help it would be futile. A Wife did not have a say, either way, not within their rank. Not within the Royal family.

“Granger could have wiped the floor with most of us; she no longer is a mudblood and has still not done anything about our little idiocy!” His words caused no reaction from the pair, but he was desperately hoping that his friends stopped begging the woman with her eyes, they would get angry at her if she didn´t help them and do something stupid if he kept his silence. Even though they still might because they couldn´t or weren´t able to understand what he meant.

Theo let out a soft “o” sound and stopped his little begging session, the others following his example but he doubted that his words had reached any of the others. Hermione however had watched and listened and gently touched Daemons face after scanning the expressions of her one time classmates.

Unguarded expressions. “They have not been taught, my lord!” Her voice was soft and very low but she was not bothered that the teens heard he entire focus on the temper of Daemon Riddle-Slytherin, Heir of the Darkness.

She had been taught to remain at her place, speaking up was not what she should do, but she could deal with the punishment. But this was neither the time nor the place and Daemon was filled with power and anger ever since he appeared, filled with bloodlust. Daemon like the Dark Lord tended to lose the ability to think clearly and logically, even though they noted the obvious, but in this set of mind nearly everything caused their desire to inflict pain grow.

He was aware that they had not been taught, he was aware that their parents feared the day the Royal family or the Dark Lord returned once more with his sanity intact. With a megalomaniac one could be sure that he would do something lethal to himself sooner rather then later, Tom Riddle returning to the world, sane, would once more turn their leisure filled lives upside down. What were some torture sessions if no one demanded change, if necessary force you to change and do your best?

Insane people with blood lust wished to inflict pain; they never wish to change the world. Domination through pain gets only this far and the Master loses his hold on his Minions. Especially if one has developed a strategy to simply live through the pain, she was fairly certain that Snape had developed a potion that allowed the Crucio to seemingly affect the victim while dampening the pain and damage and that he had gladly sold it.

“Leave!” Hermione curtsied and left without another word or movement, her hand calmly touching the portkey Daemon gave her after ordering her to leave. That she did so without looking at the kids told Draco that there were many things their parents had refrained from teaching them. He had felt the wards rising and getting stronger steadily, which meant that they were now alone and caged in with a dangerous predator.

What a nice way to end the day. “Should Gryffindor’s not do the brave thing?” the urge to throttle Tracey flooded him just as a wave of panic did the same, overloading his system as nearly black eyes began to shine with power and a cruel smile began to play on the handsome, nearly angelic face of the dangerous man. He probably should explain the principle of danger, identifying it and proper behaviour to Tracey if they managed to come out of this alive. Or he could throttle her and be done with it.

“Poor little children. Your parents forgot to teach you proper behaviour. It might even ruin my fun because you have no idea what exactly you have done and what or who I am!” the cold voice ripped Draco from his thoughts and caused his friends to jump as the eyes of the young man darkened even further and the grin turned murderous.

“You, a bunch of sexually active teenagers followed a beautiful woman for over four hours and stared at her during all of this time. A woman that happens to belong to me!”

This time Daphne and Blaise catched on and they moved backwards only to bump against the ward that held them caged. “Such a pity that you are not excused by The Laws and Rules, just because you had no knowledge of them. It is my job to punish you for breaking them, and while the usual punishment is dead..”, he stopped smiling and scanned them all coldly. “Being creative is an option!”

Somehow, Draco thought, he had never felt less assured about the fact that he probably wasn’t going to die. “You have been raised wrong, cannot behave properly in any situation and follow childish urges while speaking your mind as if you were important. But I am sure that, as incapable of behaving properly you might be, there are things you don´t do and don´t say for your sake. How about we see how you fare if you cannot stop yourself anymore. In front of no one. And if I remove your arrogance and idiocy as well as the ability to pretend nothing happened?”

The curses flew even bevor Daemon was done and Theodore broke down crying as the man and shield vanished while Draco paled and began to shake and Daphne was slowly progressing what just happened.

“Did he just block our ability to lie?” “He blocked our ability to suppress our urges, all of them!” Theo´s voice was shaking as he said that and this more than anything caused Draco to think that the alcoholism of Nott senior was much more dangerous than their friend had led them to believe.

This idea of his became a clearer picture as Theodore murmured something about his funeral and Tracey began to sputter about helping their friend. But their parents would have to approve and in pure blood society no one was going to interfere into the relationship between father and son. Not even if the father killed the son.

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The Dark Lord watched his daughter in law draw a shaky breath, dab the tears from her face and adjust her posture. For showing emotion and kindness, it was not really relevant that the teenagers would not see it as such, in public as well as bringing the deficits of his followers and their children’s Education to his attention she had been held beneath his Crucio for about four minutes.

Had he stopped after one or two Minutes she would no longer be shaking and her eyes would never have turned this shade of pink, neither would her cheeks be flushed or her lips unnaturally red.

It was a family issue that they used Crucio in anger, as punishment seemingly out of reflex. Daemon had once laughed about it and counted off a list, a damn long list, of curses, spells and mixtures of both as well as potions that could do the punishment much better and even adjusted it to the offence.

Still, they both cast the Unforgivable first and thought of everything else later.  Josephine herself had once described it as the one clear definition of Dark Lords. Pick the one Curse that was banned, inflicted the most pain and could not kill.

It had amused him in many ways to contemplate the fact that Lady Magic had implanted an impulse into those of the Light to use “Stupfey” while the Dark ones used “Crucio” and both threw it out like candy.

His daughter in law had probably solved an age old issue where Hero´s and Powerful People questioned themselves about why they used the same pattern over and over again. He still had his sons list of “Better Methods” lying around somewhere and they both added to the List each time something new came up or they had created one out during their experiments.

Sometimes he wondered if their way was a sane one, but those times were rare, much rarer than showing affection for his son or dwelling in the past. It was his fault, really, that their now existed another list written by his daughter in law about common spells and Charms that could cause enough chaos or pain to qualify as “harmless” methods of punishment as well as a list of potions that did the same.

And it was Daemons fault that she was roaming the official potions lab and experiment-room before she got her own set, his son had allowed her curiosity to bloom.

And they both had allowed her to keep studying, keep figure out things and their own nearly maniac interest in experiments had only put fuel into the fire that was Hermione Josephine Riddle. Because of her and her interesting point of view they now had two sets of china that could paralyze torture and kill their guests within less than three minutes.

Years ago he would never have thought this possible but he had developed a soft spot for the beautiful young woman standing in front of his desk, eyes downcast and waiting for him to say something or do something she could react to. And his son, his Angel, felt affection for her. Affection he had never been able to feel for woman before, much less this kind of interest in a female body. Even though his Angel had tried, very hard, to like girls and woman knowing of the expectations placed on him.

Two men could not create children, adoption, yes, but no children of their blood and genetics. This was why blood adoption had been perfected, by Wizards around the world, over the last several centuries. Even Grindelwald had been Gay as well as Merlin, not that the Light would ever allow this knowledge to become public knowledge.

In his mind the reason for Lady Magic interfering was a very clear one, he had been against it at the beginning anyway. Summoning one of his Angels self-made Potions specifically designed to treat the symptoms after Cruciatus exposure, he gently sent it towards Josephine. She took the vial and drank the potion with nothing more than a slight lighting up of her eyes and a small, brief smile.

Maybe they should include her in the plans that needed to be developed to set his Minions and their Spawns straight. His insanity had been the reason why this news had hit him out of nowhere and lacking education and knowledge made his minions useless. Which meant that he had to call them a year sooner than planned and that they had to put most of their other plans on hold until this matter was settled.

“Let us meet downstairs. We have much to discuss!” Hermione curtseyed and left to collect Daemon for their “emergency” meeting in their “Brain Storm Room”. It was, of course, the infuriating Girls idea to call the Sun room that. 

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Four hours later saw the little family split up. There were many things to prepare and much more things to pack. Their tempers had risen several times with the only woman forced to calm the men down more times than was usual and he finally decided that he had had enough.

Thus they now were packing for a little vacation of about three years in which they would visit China, a land he had previously planned to contact after he alerted his Minions of his “return”.

It would be something new, as he had passed the Country during his travels in his youth and only seen Peking once due to an invitation for himself and his son. Had he known what wealth of knowledge, long thought lost artefacts and wealth of plants and animals lived there he would have undertaken this particular journey sooner, much sooner.

China and his political structure did something else too, it made clear that he needed well Educated Minions, Minions that were set in their believes, or the whole structure could break. He could smell the desperation and the brooding brutality through the whole country, but there never happened anything that could be seen as revolutionary because those upholding the system had well trained followers.

The problem now was how one was going to train people above 30 to change their ways, the teenagers could be handled more easily and Chinas troops had been raised in those believes for several generations. He needed this Loyalty and Blindness while still keeping the brain functions intact- he had no interest in having to hire people that fed his Minions because they no longer could do anything not related to a direct order.

The problem went deeper than this, though, as his power base had to be strong, sure and secure, none of those words could be used for those pure bloods residing in Britain wearing his mark. Because if he could not control his own people it would be seen as weakness and rebellion would follow, especially from those Countries now firmly on his side.

“I will search for several books, my lord. Shall I bring anything specific?” Looking up from his musings he met Hermione’s eyes and thought about her request. “I trust that you will find everything I might need!” Which was the highest compliment he was willing to give to anyone who was not his son. Hermione curtsied and left without another word.

With the girl searching books and Daemon hunting down artefacts and plants he could begin hunting down creatures and see what else this Country had to offer. The other issue would be settled a few days before they left to return home.

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Severus Snape arrived in a circular room that was held in different shades of brown with rags for their Cloaks. One wall, the one the door leading out of the room would be, he couldn´t see any other option and there were no doors, was Charmed heavily. It wasn´t brown but showed a beautiful forest. The artist had been a genius but the one to Charm the whole wall had been as well. It was no simple picture painted onto the wall but a whole film.

Over and over again he witnessed the “ghost Hunt”. Not many still knew of it ever happening because one Necromancer managed to kill 50 Muggles, 3 Vampires and 30 Werewolves within two days. The scene was, because of this, only beautiful for those three seconds before and after the bloodbath began. He could feel his own restlessness rising and was unsurprised to see all others growing visible nervous with each passing moment unable to look away from the brutal scene.

Meeting the one to enchant the Wall seemed to cause less nervous feelings for his fellow Death Eaters than it did for him. Either the Dark Lord was sane or he had managed to acquire a powerful Alley. He felt his heart skip a beat at the notion of both being true. Those arriving talked for several moments until they noticed how everyone already there was staring in awe at the cruelty of the Illusion and he noted that very few understood what it was meant to tell them.

A scene so beautiful and you could not turn away, only realizing that there was no beauty in this, well not the kind of Beauty people meant when they talked about it, but pure horror. A discovery done too late.

That the Illusion made you believe that you were watching it through a wall of glass, probably from a window in a house of the real forest where the Hunt had happened and caused everyone to instinctively stay the hell away from it only added to the coldness he felt.

The kind of cold that told you to run or fight, the kind of cold informing you of something very bad happening and it got worse with every passing moment. This was why he sneered at all the others that tried to talk away the scene and their palpable and growing fear.

The door, it turned out, was indeed within the Illusion and Severus felt his heart skip another beat, this time because the most beautiful man he had ever seen had opened the door and was now leaning casually against it waiting for everyone to notice him.

It did help that he sent shocks through the room with his bare hands. Tight black trousers, emerald muscle shirt, silver lined black robe, shoulder length obsidian black hair, icy jade green eyes, angelic but aristocratic face and kissable lips that were twisted into a wry cold smile.

“Now that I have your undivided attention, allow me to welcome you to Slytherin Manor!” His tone of voice suggested that it was nothing but Protocol causing him to say these words and that he was too high up in rank to see it as pleasure or to presume that he needed permission for anything from either of them.

Those cold eyes wandered over all of them, his face showing only small miniature signs of Disdain, but Severus did see them and could read them, which probably meant that their host wasn´t actively hiding said emotions. That, with the exception of a handful others, everyone else was sneering at the young man caused Severus to flinch. They were wrong and would soon be taught just how wrong in presuming that they were better in anything than this young man.

The cold grin on those kissable lips grew as said man noted how he was one of six that shivered and were reacting to the waves of subtle Dark power leaving their hosts body. “We would not have bothered to call you for the next year, at least, if we had not recently gained interesting insights into your daily lives. As this is the Dark Lords Castle you will follow me or stray, at your own peril. That said: Please feel free to roam around; I would love to have a reason to play with some of you!”

By the time they had reached their destination, another circular room with a throne made of Bones at the far end of it, seven of the more arrogant pure bloods were missing. The cold smirk turned cruel and suddenly the air filled with screams from around the Castle revealing the whereabouts of those stupid enough to leave the path.

The screams finally caused everyone else to grow uneasy and get nervous, feelings that turned to fear once the doors closed and the torches lit up. Severus shook his head in exasperation and had to remind himself to breath as those jade green eyes met his directly.

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“As you are not torturing what is mine without permission those scream come from those of the group incapable of following orders or understanding subtle threats!” those still glaring at the young man nearly ripped a nerve by moving too fast to see the Dark Lord move up the Podium, his blood red eyes alight with cruel pleasure.

When the young man simply nodded respectfully all ideas of him being stupid or worthless were discarded by most Death Eaters. “Retrieve those idiots!” Another nod and the young man drew his wand summoning the people, or what was left of them, into the room.

While they waited Severus noted the changed appearance of his Lord. Instead of sickly green his skin was like white marble with black patterns that caused the impression of snakeskin if one dared to move close enough to see it more clearly. His head was no longer bald but filled with a black scale pattern causing the illusion of dark hair, there even was a small and unremarkable nose. Most prominent, though were his blood red eyes which were no longer filled with insanity.

His hands did no longer resemble claws but were still thin with longish fingernails and he had much more body mass than Severus remembered, he was no longer insane and starving. In short he still looked unnatural and dangerous but no longer like a nightmare come to life. A pleasing change, Severus thought, it was enough to know that this man was every child´s nightmare come to life, he was not required to look the part as well.

“I have called you sooner than I planned to, sending my son to fetch you and you still dare to sneer, feel above my son and show how incapable you truly are by missing the meaning behind the words “Do not roam around!” The Dark Lords voice was low and like the air in winter, cold and dry.

“Does the task of following a human being without changing the path bring you to the end of your pathetic and rather limited abilities?” This time everyone took an involuntary step back, and another as a heap of flesh, bones and former human body’s fell to the floor in front of said son´s feet with a sound of something big and wet hitting the floor.

After studying the heap for several moments with curiosity the Dark Lord spoke again, just in time to see most of his Minions win the fight against nausea. “Crabbe, Thompson, Jugson.. and that could have been Pettigrew..” “Probably. But as neither was alive when my spell caught hold of them I would have to guess as well, father!”

“Maybe the Thestral´s are hungry? I don’t see any other use for this.” “I doubt that they would do more than sniff but I could dispose it all within the Forbidden Forest..” The Dark Lord titled his head and nodded finally, unimpressed by all those pure bloods that felt slighted because he ignored them all including the impressive feats of fighting nausea.

“Will two Minutes suffice?” “Of course, father!”, with that their guide left taking the heap with him. Severus couldn´t help the small smile as he noted the shell shocked faces of his Colleagues as they began to understand that they weren´t worth much of the Dark Lords Attention.

“Tell me, you useless bunch of scum, what the origin of magic is!” The pseudo question threw them all and even Severus found it an unusual change of topic which led to the next question, as if the Dark Lord had expected their lack of answer.

“Do any of you know how wizards and Witches come to their power?” “We marry magicals, it´s through bloodline!” The tone in which Higgs answered suggested that the question had been easy, the cold smile forming on the face of their Lord suggested otherwise.

One Cruciatus removed all of his doubts about the situation and crimson eyes narrowed. “Is that so? How then would you explain Squibs and Mudbloods?” Silence settled over the room until Nott senior took a shaky step forward and bowed. “Squib magic is too weak to manifest and Muggles steal our power!” Spoken out loud and forged into one single sentence the whole principle sounded ridiculous. That the Dark Lord began to grin nastily only added to the feeling of irrationality settling over Severus.

That the returning son was smiling in a way that told them that he was not sure if he should feel pity for them or laugh at their stupidity only caused everyone else to feel uncomfortable and slightly nervous.

“For the sake of my valuable time and sanity I will skip over the suddenly arising pressing questions..” “Like how Muggles would do such a thing without the knowledge of our very existence or how, if they did know about us, they would remove our magic without having one of us or more hidden away somewhere!”

That his son supplied the details calmly meant that the interruption was planned and designed to show just how much they thought about their ability to think. “Much more important is my next question. What are the Rules and Laws?”

He was unsurprised to find everyone looking as confused as he felt, but somehow this words: “The Rules and Laws” with capital letters rang a bell in his mind. Following the silver threat within his mind he found the memory that belonged to this “bell” of recognition.

The memory of his mother, beaten and starved of affection moving through the shack his biological father called a house with nearly inhuman grace, never showing the real extend of her pain and refusing to show it as long as she could hide it.

He had only dared to ask this once, at the age of eleven when he was about to attend Hogwarts and feared for his mother´s live. He had asked her why she did not leave, why she stayed and why she did not return to Prince Manor and beg for divorce and sanctuary. Her eyes had softened like he had never seen it before and she had knelt down in front of him, caressing his cheek.

“My poor darling. I am putting you through this and have not managed to protect you. But I have chosen and I should have chosen better, I know, for your sake I should have. My Lady Magic warned me twice and I did not listen. I was young and rebellious and deeply in love, thus I went once my father told me to stay and behave or leave without the chance of return. I left and I cannot return. Not only did I shame my family and my father’s wishes and turned my back on My Lady, I am also bound by marriage. The Laws, I broke them once, I cannot do so again!”

By the time his mother succumbed to the untreated internal damage he was seventeen and had long forgotten about this little conversation. “The Rules and Laws of Lady Magic!”

He did not realise that he had spoken loud and clear enough for everyone to hear and stare at him until the man he still thought of as the most beautiful being he had ever seen began to clap. A mocking, slow clapping that stopped as the Dark Lord growled “One out of thirty!” in obvious anger and frustration.

Pitch Black Magic began to swirl until a storm began to brew, a storm made up entirely of the Dark Lords Magic. The man himself had risen; his eyes alight with power and narrowed in anger.

Severus startled as a soft hand touched his, grabbing his upper arm and he looked up to see jade green eyes from directly in front of him as Daemon removed him from the mass of people just as the first wave of power hit causing the 29 others to fall on their knees. The Heir of the Dark Lord then let go of his arm, Severus still too shocked to do or say anything, and moved gracefully forward, directly into the line of sight of his father just as the Death Eaters began to scream and roll around in pain.

The whirlwind stopped and everyone had enough time to notice this and look up before the torture course hit Daemon into his stomach.

They could do nothing but watch as the minutes passed and the young man slowly went down on his knees, no sound leaving his mouth, his head bowed but his posture was still straight, still proud, still as relaxed as possible only the occasional twitch and the visible sickly yellow curse telling them how much pain he had to be in.

Slowly the Dark Lord calmed down and the Curse ended over five minutes later. Two deep breaths were all it took before the Heir slowly rose, his body trembling slightly. “I do apologise, father.” It was all he said his voice raw and a little lower than before.

Severus felt the cold shivers of dread return at the display he had just witnessed. Nothing in the years as a spy had prepared him for this. The strength it required to stay silent, to speak and move upwards only to remain standing after over five Minutes of Cruciatus exposure meant that he had underestimated the Dark Lord´s Heir. His head was not bowed in defeat or submission like one would expect, but it was bowed out of respect and the knowledge that this man was the one he had to obey.

 

 


	8. Nathaniel

The young man´s whole posture served to tell all of them, even those with little intelligence, that the young man would obey his father as long as he lived, that the Dark Lord was his authority and that he expected punishment for disobedience.

“Daemon!” the Dark Lords voice was softer but without emotion, the anger gone from his face. His son looked up and removed a vial from his coat pocket downing it as if he had received permission already, which he had, Severus realised.

Once the Dark Lord nodded 29 vials appeared in front of the Death Eaters, they all held a strong healing potion and everyone took their vial and drank the potion too shocked to do anything else.

They had known that the Dark Lords temper would get loose and prepared for damage. He felt the slight trembling of Daemons fingers as they once again closed over his left upper arm to lead him back to the others before he was once more standing where he had stood, as if nothing had happened.

“Today I planned to test the evidence and adjust my mark if necessary. Your lack of knowledge and proper behaviour, however, has made you useless to my cause!” He paused for effect, his son leaning against the throne and watching in silence.

“Uselessness means that you are a hindrance. I usually remove what blocks my path in such a way that it will never do so again!”

Those words served to reduce all those arrogant men to whimpering fools that backed away, as if it would have any use. “Because most of you have sired children my options are limited. But I currently prefer the one where I simply kill you and your spawns and be done with it!” Another Silence, this one heavy with promise, filled the room. “Tell me, Severus, what do you know of the Rules and Laws?”

“Lady Magic has given us the Gift of Magic. Overstepping her Rules is the same as being foolish and ungrateful. Breaking them can result in losing the gift entirely. Dominance and Rank are very important. Submission depends on rank and Choice…”

“Little Knowledge, but at least you have some. Well, could any of you, now knowing this, explain why my son apologised?” “You are his father..” Bloodred eyes met his black ones for a moment and he flinched, biting his lower lip to prevent himself from speaking anything further.

It was Daemon moving forward after staying still and unmoving behind his father that drew everyone´s attention. The young man looked calm and did not flinch at the clear recount of the torture the Dark Lord had decided on in hopes of getting someone to make a guess.

“All of you follow the principle of the Head of House that has been chosen by the previous Head due to several factors, one of which is that the Head usually is chosen from the direct Heirs. Sex, Power and of course the Intelligence of the one that will then receive training in having this title are factors as well. A Head of House, as you view it, has the Obligation to care for those of direct Descendant of the family he is Head of!”

He paused, his hands clasped together at his back, posture straight but he did not step farther than where his father stood. “The original Principle behind this is much simpler than that. My father is my Dominant, his word is Law. In Theory it means that should my father discard the Laws and Rules of Magic I am obliged to follow his decision. There is no other authority for me, period. In the unlikely event that my Head of house does discard the Rules and Laws he would fall in disgrace and, because I have to follow, I will too. We would become blood traitors in the eyes of Magic herself!”

“Regardless of the circumstances what happened was that I stepped into your punishment. I disobeyed and disrespected my father’s decision to punish you. Disrespect means that I have acted against my father´s ruling, Wishes and Decision. That there was no direct order or that I had.. the best of intentions.. is of no interest and beside the point!”

Everyone was gaping, not many managed to hide it as well as he, Severus, but Lucius murmur of wishing that his son was like that caused him to brace for the next wave of power. Instead there was a flash of sickly yellow light. “The nerve of you! How can your son behave according to the Laws if you had no knowledge and are incapable of teaching your son?”

“It is your obligation to educate and train your child, Mr. Malfoy. It is not the obligation of the child to teach itself. I have been raised with the Rules and Laws of Magic, I live them and I have been taught to solve my problems and behave properly. Your son has been taught that he can do no wrong, that he does not need to do anything but run to his father and the problems go away and he has little to no control of his emotions!”

“Maybe we should test your theory, Lucius. Your arrogance suggests that we could throw you into wilderness for a few months and you would return well trained and educated!”

The sarcasm was so thick one could probably walk on it and Lucius was still gasping for air and looking rather exhausted. “But old dogs can´t learn new tricks, that´s what you all operate under, don´t you? Thus you would not be able to perform properly even if we gave you proper instructions!”

The Dark Lord paused, waiting until Lucius managed to get up. “Despite that I will teach you to the best of my ability. At least your children, most of them anyway, will be able to learn what I have to teach!” The fear was back in full force causing a small satisfied smile to appear on the Dark Lords face. “It´s time, my Angel!”

Daemon bowed and drew his wand, chanting softly causing the doors and windows to seal themselves shut and the room to expand with several additions of tables, chairs and other less inviting looking furniture appearing. “We´ll see if any of you can learn new tricks, won´t we?” It was the beginning of the training and Severus had the sudden sense that some of them might not survive this.

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Severus followed Daemon through Slytherin Manor after three years of training and a very extensive shower. Theodore Nott senior had not survived the training and he was under orders to retrieve the boy. The Laws demanded that the boy either join his father in the afterlife or get blood adopted, and soon, there was only a small time frame for this to happen.

They all had three hours to retrieve their respective spawns, but Theodore had spouted too much about his teaching methods and Severus was not sure if the child would still be alive, it had been three days of real time, after all.

Daemon stopped him in front of the second receiving room, his eyes cold and assessing. “My Consort will join you. I have already informed her of the situation. A female might just get the teen to allow help.”

They entered and his eyes found the Consort soon enough, a beautiful woman of probably 20 years with dark brown hair that fell over her shoulders in gentle waves, green-grey eyes, cream coloured skin. She wore a bloodred dress and was putting her hair into a braid with one flick of her wand while slipping into a thin travelling cloak upon seeing them. “Daemon. Mr. Snape!”, her voice was nearly musical and neither high nor strangely deep.

“This is my Consort, Josephine Riddle!” She smiled a soft smile and kissed Daemons cheek before turning to face him fully. “Shall we?” With that she took the floo powder and stepped into the emerald flames after calling out their destination.

Severus mind raced as he glanced from the vanishing female goddess to the male god on his way to leave through the door while he followed her example. There were only two reasons; according to the things he had been taught the past three years, for this gorgeous woman to be a mere Consort. Both reasons were ringing very loud in his mind as he followed her graceful, elegant and strangely purposeful movements.

She was, like himself, here for the first time and still she moved around as if she knew where they were going. He had the slight suspicion that she knew and was leading them to the teen´s room without hesitation, but this caused much more questions to arise than answers and she was above his rank, far above his rank.

A fact that had been made clear by his training and the look he had been given after being informed of her joining him, he was still “in training” like all others and they were just taking a short break. They would get better or at least any rank after they were done.

He was ripped from his musings when they entered the room of the young teen that lay unnaturally still on his bed, his thin frame forming a ball. “Hello Theodore! Do you remember me? I have been given order to help you and Professor Snape is here to pick you up! Don´t move child, yes, good boy!”

Her voice was soft and low, her movements calm and performed with ease as she removed several things from her coat and stepped towards the teen while scanning him. “You are aware, like any abused child is painfully aware, of the internal damage, fractures, bruises and other wounds so I will refrain from informing you of them!”

Severus startled at that, her tone suggesting that she did know and that she had dealt with a boy in this situation more than once already. “What I need you to do is look at me and move your head just a little up. Yes, good boy. Now swallow the potions, slow. Yes. Good!” One vial after another was downed and slowly they began to do their work visibly. “What I need you to do now is to stop clinging to all the things that hurt as the only knowledge you have. I need you to come back and wake up. It does no one any good if you stay in your little secret panic room within your mind. Good boy..”

She was running out of potions and calmly opened the next little box. “Daemon made them. They are strong but your stomach needed a little warning, otherwise I would have used them from the start. Don´t worry, now you won´t have to fight for them to stay down, child!”

“Do close your mouth, Mr. Snape. I have been taught and trained by the best, after all!”, her chiding tone caused him to close his mouth, that had indeed been open slightly because of the calm and routine efficiency of her movements, as she stopped administering potions and cleaned the teen while using various spells to get him out of the clothes he wore and into new ones after applying slave in less than five minutes and while leaving the teens sense of pride intact.

“I need you to return now, child!” Theodore slowly opened his eyes, moving out of the foetal position, his eyes meeting those of Josephine. “Can you describe the remaining pain, child?” She was using the word “child” instead of his name, avoiding triggering memories of his father while still ensuring that he felt spoken to and reminding him that he was nothing but a mere child and she was here to help because he needed help.

“My tongue.. burns… my ribcage… and something pokes into my lungs…” his voice was raw from screaming and then crying followed by an unknown amount of not using said voice and Severus had to fight flashbacks into his own youth. “May I step closer, little one?” “Why.. why…we… I..” “You were acting like the untrained children you are. Allowing you to die is neither a suitable punishment nor an acceptable one!”

“My father..” “Is dead and will stay dead, he can no longer touch you!” She calmly stepped closer and helped him sit up while casting one diagnostic after another. “But.. to whom..” “That is a discussion we will continue once you are healthy enough to walk on your own. You need a healer.”

“We can´t bring him to St. Mungo´s” Severus flinched at the cold look in her eyes as she moved away. It did not matter that the boy had said something alongside this line of thought; she was glaring at him in cold disdain.

“Has the Dark Lord not taught you to refrain from speaking if you do not have anything of worth to say?” The “who do you think you are to question me” rung loud and clear and her face softened only slightly when she turned back to the teen. “Daemon is the certified Healer you need. Now I will put you into a sort of stasis and levitate you out of this house!”

“Will.. will you.. adopt me?” She calmly cast the spells after removing the empty boxes and vials from all around them. “I do not know, child. And it is not my place to decide. Enough of this now, we will talk once you are healthy enough to walk!” Severus followed them, unsurprised that Theodore nodded at her words without further protest.

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He woke with a start. The last vial had been a sleeping potion, the one given to him after he had been brought into the Infirmary and it had been his decision to take and drink it. “Hello Theodore!” the voice sounded familiar and smooth. Slowly he turned his head and moved a little to come face to face with Daemon Riddle who sat beside his bed, casually, a tray with food hovering next to him.

Casting a series of Charms intent to alert his Healer of his slow awakening sounded like something this particular Healer would do, which meant that he was not really surprised to see Daemon sit there waiting for him to wake fully. “Can you sit up on your own?”

It was a test and he knew it. This was a test and his magic tingled slightly to get his brain to function fully. “I can´t..” It was strange to be near this dangerous man and feel nothing but calmness. He could not bring himself to fear the man, respect him- yes definitely, but he felt no fear and he felt strangely at ease with admitting to his weakness.

That there was no pity in those emerald orbs helped, as well as the man´s calm reaction to everything. Dark power engulfed him, helping him to sit up before the same power helped him eat by feeding him slowly, Daemons eyes aware of it all while he prepared the next batch of potions needed for his healing and the next sleeping draught as well.

He felt no embarrassment and no need to hide and Daemon did not cause any feelings of shame to arise within him. He could not do something and it was nothing bad or demanded punishment, he was healing after all.

“You were out cold for over four days, but Hermione activated the time wards the moment she entered with you, which means that less than five hours have passed in reality!” Daemon stopped his motions and met his eyes after he was done eating and the potion to allow him to keep it all down began to set in.

“I had my suspicions, which is why I lifted the curse from you after one day. I have killed Nott senior, which means that he is very much dead!”

Feeling a strange warmth spreading through him, he met those colour changing eyes once more. “who.. who will..” “Take you in? The Grengrasses, Malfoys as well as Severus Snape and Martin Thompson have offered to adopt you!”

Daemon paused and sat down next to him once more, the potions already put next to him. “But my Consort begged me to offer you another option. As she rarely asks for anything I have decided to grant her the wish. If you wish to, we will adopt you!”

Another pause and those Emerald eyes darkened to jade orbs. “We are the Royal Family and it will be very different from the things all these others offer you. None of us will force the choice and we will accept the one you make. But be aware that our offer is a one-time only thing. Getting back later is no option!”

Theo felt warmth and many emotions flood him as he swallowed the potions. Daemon had known that the thought of the Grengrasses or Malfoys adopting him was sending showers of dread through his body. The Dark Heir had deliberately mentioned Severus Snape and Mr Thompson after them and was now deliberately not repeating either of the choices he had.

He liked his friends, he really did, but they had never been able to comprehend, had ignored the signs and hints and believed his lies given because he had not dared to tell the truth, not the full truth at least.

They had been raised differently than him and simply accepted him to be “strange” but nice. Getting adopted from either of their families would leave him the charity case, the odd one out with the irrational anger at their kindness that wasn´t kind but just “The proper thing to do”.

“The families are not a good option, though. They struggle, once more, through the training and fight amongst themselves. You won´t be their child but a person owning them a huge favour and their arrogance still surfaces more often than not alongside a wave of temper!”

“Could I talk to Hermione?” Daemon removed the empty tray and vials, checking over him and cleaning him before he answered. “I will rely your wish once my Consort returns!” Smiling slightly, already aware that the formal tone and way of speech was nothing Daemon used in defence but was just his usual way of talking. Moments later he was alone and the sleeping draught began to kick in.

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Time passed and Theodore felt strangely at peace with it all. Daemon would appear at least once a day, which caused him to be a little confused when his meal appeared without the young Dark Lord. But he couldn´t bring himself to worry about it, secure in the knowledge that there was a reason and that he would be remembered. After he finished eating three vials appeared.

It was a good sign, he knew, if the amount of healing potions got reduced, it meant that he was healing properly and would soon be able to leave. That however meant that he would have to make a decision very soon. Before he could get into the slight depression he always felt at this thoughts the door opened to reveal Hermione.

“Now that you are strong enough to eat alone, how about that talk?” her voice was soft and she elegantly fell into the seat beside him, her eyes scanning him to see for herself how far he had come in the past days or hours. “Daemon informed me of my options. I.. I like my friends, I do.. but..” Her eyes and face remained calm but soft and she let him ramble and talk about his previously hidden thoughts and ideas.

“I don’t want to be stuck with them. Don´t want to be the poor, ungrateful orphan they so graciously adopted! And what if Professor Snape lost his temper… He might trigger too much..”

He talked and talked and looked away once he began to analyse the pair that had been caring for him those past days, or hours. “I know you carried me up here and that Daemon did not use magic to feed me the first three times…!” “I am sure you are hallucinating, dear child!” Her voice was soft and there was mirth in her tone and in her eyes.

Theo felt himself blush and he looked away. It was the first thing he learned and he was reminded of it again, talking was overrated. “How old are you, in reality, I mean?” Hermione’s eyebrow had risen at his words and she had leaned back. “Daemon has turned 35 recently, I am 29 years old. But we do not look our age, which is why I forgive you the slight!”

“My Lord has many Masteries and I recently finished my own in Dark Magic, Healing and Charms. Daemons father happens to be the Dark Lord and you are currently residing in the private Infirmary of Slytherin Castle the men keep insisting on calling Manor. We live and breathe the Rules and Laws of Lady magic and your choice is so much harder because of it!”

She rose slowly, meeting his eyes. “Whatever you decide on, choosing to accept Daemons offer means that you will no longer be Theodore Nott and the Royal family does not have friends within the lower ranks. Failure is unacceptable!”

Her eyes softened. “You have been given time. Use it very wisely, child!” Brushing away one strand of his hair from his face she left without another word, leaving him with equally less and more information. But no one had promised him to make this any easier.

He remembered his friends whining about their father´s absence and lack of time. He had been in here for days, mere hours in real time and the Consort of the Dark Heir as well as the Dark Heir had visited him. It was a safe bet that being the Consort of and the Dark Heir was much more taxing and stressful than whatever his friend´s fathers did for a living.

Could he choose them over his friends? Could he even trust himself with all the potions in his system? Because he was well aware of Hermione’s hidden meaning. If he chose them he would choose a family instead of friends, a demanding, private and dark family with the Dark Lord as head of House.

Had Daemon not made clear that this offer was not optional he would gladly test out all of his options and make his decision after that. But he had to be honest with himself and admit that he had already made the decision. Maybe if he had had a different childhood or was more Light than Dark the choice against his friends would hurt or cause pangs of regret, but neither thing happened. Instead his magic began to sing and he slowly drifted off.

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“Little one?” Opening his eyes he met the grey-green ones of Hermione before he met Daemons emeralds and sat up. “Have you made your decision?” It was another of the things that caused him to feel comfortable around them, their refusal of calling him “Theodore”, as if it was the most normal thing of the world to call a teenager “little one” or “child” instead of using his or her given name.

They had both made clear that Lady Magic was pushing for this, that Daemon had given in because of both woman in his live (the Lady and his Consort) suggesting this strongly and that they were not expecting anything but him using the time given to him.

Their faces were as calm as always, postures straight as always, movements elegant as always and he wondered if they really wanted him, if they would love him or care for him. If telling them “no” would hurt them and what they were hiding, or if they were hiding anything at all beneath the calm blankness.

“Now you are over thinking, mon petit!”, Daemons voice cut through his musings, the older man gently trailing over his left upper arm. “We have offered to blood adopt you, take you in and raise you. It might not suffice to eradicate your memories but there will be no pain without due reason!”

Theo stiffened, his eyes widening. It took one abused child to recognise another. Now it made sense, the ability to stay silent and fight the urges despite the powerful man´s spell and the lack of pity in Daemons eyes.

“I am not a patient man, by any stretch of the imagination, and we have given you more than enough time!” “Shower and dress, we will return in an hour!”, Hermione said softly putting a bundle of clothes beside his bed.

Daemon met his eyes once more and the pair left allowing him to get up slowly and into the bathroom where he took a long shower and returned to dress himself. Neither of them was surprised to find him sitting on the visitors chairs which only made it easier to speak the words burning atop his tongue. “I wish to accept your offer!”

Hermione smiled at him at that, a small but proud and happy smile. Daemons reaction was an amused smirk at his consort and a calm nod. “Very well! While I am aware that you despise this room by now we will conduct the ritual here, there is a bed you might need!”

Unsure if he should smile or act very grown up by sticking out his tongue he listened to Hermione’s no nonsense explanation of the ritual and the details behind it all. The potions would not only give him the perfect mixture of their blood but they would also cause several physical changes, one of which was to revert him back to the age of four years. It was usual practice with children above the age of 12 and would allow him to develop into Daemons son- as the Slytherin blood would be the dominant part.

His looks however would be a mixture of both and he would relieve his “previous life” in its eternity during his physical changes.

Because the whole thing was painful, very painful, he would sit through it and the last potion would send him in Morpheus arms to ensure that his new live did not start like his old one ended. And to ensure that his magic began fighting it, or his mind.

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Hermione gently placed the small body on the bed that had once belonged to her. Keeping the boy close had been the reason for their rearranging of their rooms. She would love to sleep with Daemon but the fact that he disliked woman and the fact that, while there was affection there was no love meant that she slept in the room next to his and their son slept on the left side.

But as he was a boy he was not supposed to run to his mother with his issues and she was near enough to satisfy her needs concerning mother feelings and the love towards Daemon.

She had indeed finished her Masteries and her “Test” from Lady Magic and would not return to the Academy. Instead she kept their potions and other healing supplies stocked, trained the house elves, decorated things anew, went shopping, joined the men during their brain storming sessions, organised both of their offices and sat through boring dinners.

She had contacted Neville about Daemons offer and been put in charge for the project that revolved around those greenhouses. There would be greenhouses, a public library, a huge hospital, a kindergarten and a Primary school near several big cities in England, Scotland and Ireland for the Magicians and there would be Higher schools and at least one university in each country for all of them as well as Training centres for soldiers.

It were things that were of importance but demanded a kind of patience neither man in her live could summon long enough. Dealing with underling´s wasn´t their strong suit, especially not the kind of underling one paid to do the work. Having patience was hard enough but both men were currently leading a Cloak and Dagger war and had to train the people in Britain. Even geniuses had their limits, Dark Lord and Heir or not they were still merely human.

Their own child had to wait until after the war, but Daemon had granted her the wish to adopt Theodore, something he would have done without Lady Magic pushing for it. Because she had only asked for things twice and knew of her options concerning those two men. She could influence them only so far and get only so much leeway, but it was a subtle game on a level she had grown to love.

Smiling she tucked the still changing body beneath the bed sheets and left to check on the progress of several of her projects while Daemon fought alongside their Allies in America and the Dark Lord attended a little massacre in Ireland aiding his people unseen, not that they knew that they were his people or would want him to be there.

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Emerald eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the candle light. Long obsidian black eyelashes underlining the unusual eye colour of the five year old boy, his crème coloured, flawless skin only serving to intensify his eye colour, obsidian black soft shoulder length hair moving slightly as he sat up to take in his surroundings.

The room was painted in royal blue with black furniture, splotches of ice blue and grey thrown in as well as some sunset yellow and crème. The King size bed would be huge and too big for him, regardless of his age but it was funny to roll around in it and have to fight to reach the end, he was not in danger of ever falling off of this bed.

For the first time in over ten years nothing hurt and he could feel his body and magic easily without any fear of finding something amiss. Getting up he looked around noting the curtains to his left hiding a window, the four bookshelves and huge writing desk as well as the painting of his parents above his fireplace to his left.

Between fireplace and window was a door that led into his bathroom and walk in wardrobe, which meant that the door to his right led out of his room. “Master being awake! I bes Missy, your elf!”

It was the first time ever that the arrival of the house elf had not startled him and that he did not duck out of reflex. The little creature put a bundle of clothes on his bed and he thanked her noting that his voice was a perfect mixture between Daemons Husky, sensual timbre and Hermione’s gentle, musical tone.

Entering his bathroom, after realising that the wardrobe had an extra entrance and the door lead into a short corridor in which he found the three doors: bathroom, toilet, wardrobe, he stripped and showered allowing the elf to dry him and help him into his clothes after he noted that he was indeed a perfect mix between his parents looks.

He was taller than Theodore Nott junior had been at the age of five, he knew as his mother had died during this year of his life. Once dressed and finished with the exploration of his rooms he left, Missy at this side, to find himself within a playroom roughly the size of his bedroom.

There was a table for meals and a huge window, shelves filled with children’s books and cupboard as well as boxes filled with toys. Smiling he moved to the first cupboard and removed everything in it. This time he would have a childhood, this time he would play like a child and act like a child. He felt his magic spike at this and found that he could care less as his eyes fell on an emerald green plush dragon.

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Hermione entered the playroom after being alerted by the ward on her door, finding her son giggling and playing with the plush dragon Daemon had bought and handed over to her. It had been her duty to design this room, a room that would change with her son as well as his bedroom would as he grew older.

He had noted her entry and was now looking at her his eyes wide and slightly glazed. Smiling at the little angel with the dragon she did not need much to guess what was happening and calmly sat herself down.

“Your father has ensured that you have the choice to forget, Nathaniel. Your father does not do things by half. If you allow it you will be no one and nothing else but Nathaniel Alexis Riddle, born on the 20th of August. While you will remember your former life, you will not have any emotions attached to those memories, like a bad dream you had for a few nights!”

“I want it to be real!” She nodded, unsurprised at having guessed right and gently played with the soft hair of her son she was going to cut very soon if she had her way.

“Allow Daemons power to work. All you have to do..” “is want it..” Smiling she nodded, watching as a brilliant smile formed on the little lips, the smile Daemon used rarely, very rarely which spoke of hope and happiness.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and allowed the power he had felt to flood him noting that it was creating a wall made of obsidian around his memories. When he opened his eyes he was aware of the wall and the content behind the barrier but was no longer caught up within it. Smiling at his mother he began to play in earnest. “Not now, Nathaniel. We have to go shopping!” “okay mum…”

His Mother laughed, a gentle, wonderful sound and he felt himself get picked up. “You may call me that in private. But don´t let your father hear it!” Snuggling against her he whispered “Mum” causing her to laugh once again and himself to feel happiness bubble in his stomach and the sense of sharing a secret as his mother moved through the room, his elf began to clean and the laughter stopped once they had left the room.

Moments later he felt a little nausea at his first apparition and tightened his hold around his mother´s neck.

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Nathaniel sat at his father´s feet reading a tome about politics written by said man and one of said man´s friends. The book would be used for schools all around the world once the Dark Lord, his grandfather, had taken over.

He was ten years old now and his father occasionally played with his hair or stroked over his head to show that he was aware of his presence and as sign of affection even though neither of them moved much or spoke and Daemon was engrossed in his own work.

At ten he loved his live, all of it. The silent hours filled with learning in his father´s study, the hours where his father read him a book or taught him various things, like Laws and decorum through games, the hours where his mother played silly games with him that had not no other use but to amuse them, her musical laughter and the fact that she was tucking him in when her schedule allowed it.

Living and breathing the Rules and Laws of Magic was easy when you grew up with it and he was growing up very sheltered beneath several time wards, which was why he rarely met his grandfather and why his parents were absent for several hours sometimes.

His grandfather would spoil him every chance he got and called him “little Cherubim” but he never forgot that Grandfather was the one authority of the family, that he had the final say.

His father was his Law, Judge and jury but once his grandfather got involved it was his word that counted. His mother was the gentle influence. Her skill at manipulating was an art in and of itself and she did it while feeling secure and comfortable with her rank.

She never stepped over the line and bowed to every order and decision with grace using her influence rarely and subtle.

Both men knew what she was doing and let it slide. “She is a brilliant woman and I feel strongly for her, mon petit. Why would I stop her by developing those skills when I often find myself enjoying her little games?”

It was one of the things he would probably only understand fully once he was a little older but he had paid careful attention after this and knew what his father had meant.

He also knew that his parents loved him, that his mother loved his father but Daemon never used the word “love” and he did not feel as strongly for his Consort as it was the other way around. Another thing he would understand once he was older.

His life was beautiful and strenuous and so much more. He loved his parents and hated to disappoint them. Once, he had thrown a temper tantrum in front of his grandfather outside his room.

His mother was not allowed to come into his room after a punishment until after a certain time had passed and she had never cuddled him or kissed him after he had been a disappointment. But this one time she had done more than change his clothes and apply the slave.

“Sometimes we do something wrong. Most of the time it is done without us realising it but the fact remains. You are well trained and a growing boy. We have taught you to realise your mistakes as you make them. What you have to learn now is to accept that you have done something wrong and that you deserve punishment. Face your punishment and never repeat the mistake again. Pay attention and become stronger. You cannot fail, my little Angel and you will not fail!”

Since then she had kept talking to him after a punishment. All of those words hurt much more than the Punishment itself, hearing his mother chide that they had taught him better and seeing his father´s eyes growing cold in disappointment hurt.

That it had been his first punishment that did not involve the removal of toys or privileges it had come as a shock all of its own, at the age of seven, and thanks to the temper tantrum he threw, he had been introduced to the whip. He had learned to accept punishment since then and accepted that the lack of comfort was part of it at all times. Sometimes he forgot to heal the scars, a reminder for himself.

“Nathaniel” “Yes, father?” “Bring me +Amnia+” Getting up, after gently closing his book he went to retrieve the book and handed it over before sitting back down, a soft caress all the thanks he needed as he opened the book and returned to his reading. There would be a quiz about this, after all.

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Moving through the Castle with the grace that had become his natural way of movement he passed by the official drawing room, ignoring the bunch of teenagers waiting within. “Hey! The Kids have to wait in here!”

He knew this voice and the teen it belonged to from his memories. Stopping he turned, calmly and deliberately slow scanning those inside the room and Blaise Zabini, who had spoken.

“The children of the Death Eaters have been ordered to await their parents in the drawing room, I am aware!” Not interested in finding out if they caught onto he meaning he continued on his way. Blaise was too stunned to say anything further and all others, they had listened, were shocked into silence, which suited him just fine.

At sixteen he was still a perfect match of his parent´s looks. Delicate but masculine. Beautiful instead of handsome. Having been taught how to seduce and manipulate by using his looks he was unusually aware of his body and the effect he had on others. He had put his training to good use and his father had laughed in glee at the destruction he caused during his One year of being set loose.

He had returned from this little adventure three days ago and had caused his grandfather to have a heart attack because he had manipulated, seduced and played one political game after another, amassing information and data as he went.

Now the time wards and spells were gone entirely and it was the 25th of august 1995. The Hogwarts students would return to school in three days and he would attend Salem Academy.

He was, theoretically, allowed to leave school during weekends but his father had been very clear in his orders, which was why he moved through his home and collected books he would take with him. It was a test after the test and he would not disappoint.

He could basically decide if he wished to turn his back on his family or return to his parent´s and his legacy. This test would be the one Lady Magic would interfere with to see if he was following her path and he was set on returning home.

His grandfather was dreading his test, probably waiting for one of his blood to become a blood traitor just to kill him long before his time. The Dark Lord was growing wary over the past weeks in which he taught his Minions proper behaviour and the war had been put on hold as much as one could put something like that on hold, anyway.

He had stood behind his father, listening to his grandfather´s worries that were shot down by his father. “If I tighten his leash further I might end up strangling him, and wouldn´t that be disappointing? Lady Magic demands his release and I will not stand in her way. My son needs to choose his path and I will not wait and find out what happens if I keep him home. The Lady has never been gentle nor patient!”

And that had been that. This time it was no setting him loose but his choice, he had to choose to return home. It sounded easier than it would be. Magic herself would use everything to seduce him, trying to see if he could resist straying from the path and his legacy.

Either way, regardless of how he ended up the decision would be final. There was no return button once he had made the choice. Avoiding temptation and finding the path back home, an adventure he was more than prepared to begin.    

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Neville Longbottom sat at the Gryffindor table sipping his Afternoon Tea while listening to the hustle and bustle around him. He was fifteen now and there would be an accident at St. Mungo´s during Yule break. The accident would destroy the spell damage ward and some other parts of the Hospital, but everyone in this one ward would not survive.

Daemon had informed him of it a few hours before he stepped onto the train, his greenery coming along nicely with Hermione’s gentle help and oversight of the working people. He had been caring for all the seams and plants given to him by the woman in a makeshift greenery while the greenhouses of his dreams were still under construction.

Hermione had given him several of the school books used at Salem Academy and he would use his school time to study them. He would then take his N.E.W.T´s and Mastery in Herbology and Potions once he had finished O.W.Ls and had good enough grades to pass. Should his grades be below the expectations placed on him he would have to retake them at Salem and he would be unable to start with his work for an additional year.

A soft smile formed on his lips as he thought about the ten greenhouses that would be his and the beautiful house in the middle of the property that would be his, protected by Daemons wards and other little tricks. He would get a group of people with good grades, once it all was settled down, teach them everything necessary as they would then start taking over the shops where his plants would be sold.

There was a bigger house next to his property in which the three Potions Masters would reside, all of which would use his plants to make potions and next to that would be the animal farm where all of the needed Beasts would be cared for. It was Daemons System and it would suffice to get all of Britain, Ireland and Scotland the best care concerning potions supplies and premade potions possible.

Once Britain had settled down he would be sent to another Country to oversee it all there, it was literally his childhood wet dream come true. The Price he had to pay was high, but he was aware of the fact that one had to pay a price for everything. Putting down his cup he slowly rose, pretending to slump and want back to bed while he went to one of the empty classrooms to learn and repeat his training.

Time Turners custom made by Daemon Riddle were nice little playthings and he was on a tight schedule for the next two years.

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Draco sighed but followed his friends as they went to question Severus concerning Theodore’s whereabouts. Their Head of House Slytherin allowed them to enter and sit down, his raven feather used to grade students work vanishing as well as the work he had been about to grade.

His uncle had been sent back because he had taken to the Rules and Laws like a duck to water and was now here to ensure that they were acting properly and following what they had been taught by the Dark Lord and his Heir.

Over a month of their fifth year had passed and his friend was still absent, but it was the beautiful young men they had seen at the castle that had caused Blaise and Daphne to decide on this visit to Severus Snape´s office. He dearly hoped his uncle was in a good enough mood to allow them this childishness.

“How may I help you?” He watched as his friend’s struggled to explain now that they were in Severus office. “We were wondering about Theodores whereabouts and why the Beauty we saw at the castle has not joined us in school..”

Severus eyes darkened and he looked them over, causing Draco to look away and lean back further. “There is no Student by the name of Theodore Nott, and certainly none by the name of Beauty!”

“It´s just, we never heard from Theo after our shopping trip but he sent a letter to those who had offered to take him in declining the offer. And his name might be unknown but a beautiful young man like that would have been very visible..” If one forgot that they were doing something very improper, Draco noted, one could at least give Daphne and Blaise points for trying very hard to keep going.

Severus leaned back his eyes boring into each of them for several moments. “You seem to be under the impression that you have a right to know any of this. Neither of you has any rank to pull nor is it relevant for you. Still you dare to disturb me. Just because you´ve set your eyes on a person far out of your reach?”

“So you know whom we mean?” Draco looked up at that, scanning Severus body language at the breach of Etiquette. “Theodore Nott was blood adopted with the Dark Ritual of Blood. The boy is dead, your friend is dead. He will not return and he will not remember you” Severus paused allowing this information to sink in.

“The parents of the one you knew as Theodore Nott do not like the Education offered at Hogwarts and have sent their son to another school!” Draco heard it all and felt coldness curse through his body.

“The Dark Lord has not sent his son to Hogwarts, he would not send his grandson, you mean, uncle?” Severus smiled a cold smile at him and he had his answers.

“What would happen if we tried to approach Daemon Riddles son in hopes of rising in rank because we knew him?” “I doubt that you know the Dark Heirs son. I doubt that you know the young man that brought Russia´s society to its knees liking the dark Lords boots after spending less than three months in the country. Should you approach the Dark Prince because you are too stupid to understand that he has no relation to Theodore Nott it will be at your own peril!”

Severus calmly stood up and made himself a glass of brandy, allowing it all to sink in. “The Dark Prince will deal with you like he was raised to!” “Raised.. but..” “They blood adopted him with the Ritual that puts every child above 12 back at the age of four or five. Even if he was still able to remember us, he has lived through eleven years as Daemons son!”

Saying what he had to say he left his mind racing, not caring that Severus threw his friends out after punishing them.

It was time to repeat his training and it was time to distance himself from the others, they probably would not be able to rise or gain any rank of worth.

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The war ended less than two years later, shortly before Draco finished his education at Hogwarts. The dark Lords public return had been a blood bath with all of his previously incarnated and insane followers going on one last party.

The Final Battle lasted for five hours as several places were under attack at the same time. Diagon Alley fell followed by the Ministry and Hogwarts. No one was left to bury Albus Dumbledore and all body´s were burnt, those of the fallen Death Eaters alongside those of the Light rebels.

Some of those fallen had not been aware of this being their last fight, others had been preparing for this for years and Chaos reigned for several days as the Royal Family rose up the ladder and took control of Britain with practised ease.

There had been a Ball at the end of his Yule break within the new Ministry that had made clear just why the new leadership was important as Susan Bones tried to trick Nathaniel Riddle-Slytherin into a political marriage.

What was left of the Light Ministry got shot down the very same evening as well as any and all hopes of Daphne and Blaise to land in said young man´s arms.

While he had known that the War had been waging in the Shadows for years it´s end felt rather anticlimactic and that they had prepared for years meant that everything was built up within days after the Final Battle, the new shopping districts and schools opening during Easter break while Severus Snape had calmly organised Hogwarts and it´s new teachers and subjects.

Each student had to attend a testing period and some had to repeat a year of school. It was a surprise to see the Dark Prince enter the school after Easter break but Draco knew that he would teach them the rules and Laws, all of them once more.

Leaning back in his chair he watched the introduction of the teachers and subjects, now that the testing period was over and noted that several students were absent while others looked stressed and near their breaking point, Tracey was one of those.

The war was over. He was the last remaining Malfoy and would have to attend to his duties once he had finished his schooling but the five seconds the Dark Prince looked at him gave him an idea that there was a new world of duties he might have to fulfil.

Bowing his head he looked once again through the Great Hall and returned to his meal. The Future had begun and he was very interested in seeing how it played out. “Good evening, Draco Malfoy!”

“Prince” Nathaniel´s smile was cold and his Emerald eyes lit up in amusement as he passed the blonde.

Moving through the Great Hall as if he owned it, which he kind of did, he left, his smile turning amused in anticipation. They had won, their plans had worked flawlessly and he was here to make clear that the time to adjust has reached its limit. After that he would return to the Castle and take on his other duties and he might not be alone once he was done at Hogwarts.

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Hermione smiled. She stood on the balcony of their castle in Washington D.C wearing her beloved silver dress and caressing her baby-stomach. The war had been won as smoothly as had been expected in all of the countries they had prepared to follow.

The world was changing, the future had started and it would soon be split between the Lord of the Light and his royal family and their family. Once this was done they would return to Britain as the Dark Lord stepped back and his son took over.

Nathaniel would do the same here and lead America while the Dark Lord would roam the world and visit all other countries for the last few years of his life and spoil his granddaughter and grandson once the twins were born.

She herself would become more active once the twins were old enough and Nathaniel would marry his “wife” in a few years as well. They had come far and their Future was wonderful.

“Thank you, My Lady!” whispering softly she stepped inside with a soft smile on her lips. Daemon had found the Love of his life and she could step back from some of her duties as his Consort because of it.

It was time to use her full potential, as mother and as intelligent woman trained by the Dark Heir, but for now she needed to pee and take a long, warm, relaxing bath and await the return of her eldest and her Lord.

 

  


End file.
